Kiss of Iron
by WizardsGirl
Summary: Harry had been reborn many times before. This time, he had a younger twin sister to protect. He faces Court intrigue, his sister's new harem of men, his childhood crush FINALLY showing him some interest despite being married to someone else, his murderous/manipulative relatives, and an order to get someone, ANYONE pregnant. Or else. Well, then... Merry Gentry/Harry Potter x-over
1. Prologue

**A/N:** Here, have something new because Plotbunnies, lolz.

**Kiss of Iron**

**Prologue**

Harry had died.

Again.

It was a rather common occurrence, all things considered. He had, after all, died many times before. He'd died young and old, violently and kindly. He'd died through sickness, murder, accident, suicide, and all things around and in-between, only to be reborn again afterwards. He'd been male, female, both, and neither. He'd been straight, gay, bisexual, pansexual, asexual, and countless other sexualities, enough times to find that you truly _couldn't_ control that factor in your life.

Another thing you couldn't really control was your death.

10 out of 10 people die.

…Harry had just been every single one of them at one point.

Now, as he opened his eyes to his_ nth_ life, he found himself blinking up at a beautiful man smiling softly down at him, glowing inhumanly with tri-ringed eyes, a signature he recognized as being a sidhe trait. Harry stared up at the man, who, he guessed, was his father. He had dark crimson hair, long and held back in a braid well past his shoulders. His eyes were flame colored. A ring of burnt orange around his pupil, a crimson red around that, and a dark gold around the edge.

"Hello, little one," the man murmured to him, pulling him up to place a soft kiss on Harry's forehead, and Harry made a soft, questioning noise. "My little Harkin." Still smiling, the man handed Harry off to a different sidhe, this one a woman who bowed deeply to his father and took Harry a little ways away to clean. Harry eyed the woman curiously, taking in her bright yellow skin and hair, and her black, black eyes, making him think of a bee. After she finished cleaning him, she wrapped him in a soft green blanket and returned to where his mother and father must be. Harry shifted around in his blanket, and made soft, uncertain sounds. He'd never liked this stage of rebirth, being so helpless and reliant upon others.

A sudden, piercing cry echoed through the chamber, and Harry blinked, startled, as he heard his father crooning again and the gasping pants of what must be his mother.

"My lovely Meredith," his father murmured, and soon Harry found himself joined by what must be his little twin sister. Turning his head as best as he can when the yellow sidhe set the green-wrapped bundle next to him, Harry peered at the sniffling, scrunched-up face of his sister, Meredith.

She had hair, small tufts of it on her softly-gleaming head, the color of garnets. Her skin was moonbeam-pale, gleaming, and, when she opened her eyes, to stare tearily at him, Harry could see that, despite their current baby-blue color, she had the same three rings as their father. Harry cooed at her wordlessly, and shifted around as their father once more picked them up and held them.

"I give you Prince Harkin and Princess Meredith of the Unseelie Court!" He introduced, and Harry squinted at the tired-looking sidhe woman lying on the bed being cared for by the pretty bee-sidhe. She was, in comparison to the honestly intriguing bee-sidhe's beauty, rather plain for a sidhe. She had wavy, sweat-dampened brown hair, brown eyes, and pale skin, but nothing as other-worldly as the other woman's, and Harry did _not_ like the look in her eyes, that bitterness which dug deep into this woman's heart.

Meredith sniffled next to him and Harry cooed again.

He would have to keep an eye out for his little sister.

**~(Line Break)~**

Harry loved the Unseelie Court, despite its prejudice towards his twin and self due to their "mixed" blood. They were three now, and Harry found himself eying his reflection in a mirror while his two bodyguards, Carrow and Adair, watched on, Carrow with fond amusement, and Adair with a carefully neutral face. Harry squinted at his reflection in the small hand-held mirror he'd snatched from his mother's drawer. This was the first time he'd seen himself in this life.

His hair was messy and thick, and the same deep, garnet red as his twin's. His skin, however, was a soft, creamy brown, that glowed like all sidhe, but gave hint to his mother's Brownie heritage. His three-ringed eyes were his prettiest feature, he would admit. A ring of Killing Curse green around the pupil, a pale, money-colored green around that, and the final ring a molten silver color with a green tinge, making it look like his eyes were lightening towards white from pupil out.

"Are you enjoying your reflection, Prince Harkin?" Carrow asked, amused, and Harry lowered his mirror and turned, cocking his head and peering way up at his two guards of the day. Carrow had once been a Hunter Deity centuries before, but now he was one of Queen Andais's, Harry's Aunt, Guards. He was tall and slender, with close-cut brown hair, brown skin, and brown-and-green eyes. He had a nice smile, and smelled of growing things and nature, and was rather good looking.

Adair, standing stiff and neutral beside him, was just as good looking, actually more-so, with sun-kissed golden skin, long brown hair, and sunshine-eyes, the three rings mixed of yellow and gold. Sometimes Harry had to blink spots from his eyes after staring into them too long, because they glowed faintly, like staring into the sun.

"I've never seen my reflection before," he told the Guards simply with a shrug, before pushing himself carefully to his wobbly little three-year-old feet and waddling awkwardly over to them, lifting his hands up to Carrow with a guileless blink.

"I am hungry," he told the Guard as the former Deity willingly picked him up; Harry smiled back when the statement earned him a startled laugh.

"Well, then, little Prince," the Guard said as he proceeded to carry Harry around, Adair being the one to check that each room was secure for him. "Let's go get you something to eat, hmm?" Harry smiled as he laid his head against the Guards shoulder.

He really did like the Unseelie Court.

**~(Line Break)~**

His Aunt was trying to drown his sister, and Harry's little six-year-old body was trembling with rage.

"Stop it!" He shouted, and, in an explosion dirt, grass, and stone, his magic erupted around him, tearing violently into the world around him, leaving a crater of destroyed grass and mud and torn earth as his body disappeared from sight momentarily. His Aunt, alarmed, moved away, just barely managing to dodge a gleaming blade that errupted from the ground she had just stood on, and Merry was coughing up water, sobbing, as their Father appeared and scooped her up. Harry could only pant as the magic died down, and glare viciously at his aunt.

All around him, chains of stone, dirt, and metal rattled and hissed like furious serpants, each of the thick, ominous chains tipped in wicked, deadly-looking blades. Harry panted, glaring, as those thick, deadly chains coiled around him, like an over-protective boa constrictor, as he lifted his clenched left hand, which was glowing with faint, purple energy. Taking a deep breath, face lightly sweaty, Harry let it out slowly, the purple energy fading, and his chains hissing and melting away, turning into shadow and mist before all that was left was him, standing in a crater of destruction and glaring at the Queen of Air and Darkness.

"…Is Merry alright, Papa?" He asked quietly, turning away from his Aunt and tiredly climbing from his crater. His father nodded and silently scooped him up as well, so that he could cuddle his soaking-wet, sobbing little sister.

"I don't want to be here anymore," Harry muttered into his father's shoulder; the older Prince just nodded, turned, and left his sister standing with her Guards, staring at the destruction around her.

That night, there were earthquakes for miles around, thanks to Harry's release of his Hand of Power.

He was now Prince Harkin NocEssus, Son of Essus, Prince of Chains.

He preferred just being Harry.

**~(Line Break)~**

Harry was infatuated, pure and simple.

Of course, no one knew, besides Merry, but she had sworn to never tell their Papa or anyone who would tell him. They wouldn't understand, he'd told her earnestly, because he was a Prince of the Unseelie Court, and to be interested in anything that wasn't a sidhe for anything more than a one-night stand was frowned upon.

It wasn't Harry's fault that Goblin King Kurag was just so _fascinating_ to him! His skin was the same color as Fflur, the Sidhe who had been at Harry and Merry's birth, but it was covered in warts and lumps, the "beauty marks" of the Goblin Court. His eyes, all three of the ones on his face, were orange with a hint of yellow, and looked like large citrine's upon his strong, broad features. There was a large lump on his shoulder, where what the Goblin Court called a "wandering eye" rested, a beautiful lavender colored thing with thick black lashes. A full, lushly-lipped mouth rested below it on Kurag's chest, and two small arms curled from that side of Kurag's body. Unlike his sister, Harry knew that those extra features belonged to the completely sentient twin that Kurag had attempted to absorb within the womb.

That twin was so kind and gentle, always willing to play cards with the Royal Unseelie Twins, and playing feather-blowing with Merry, that Harry couldn't help but adore it, and Kurag himself.

Which is probably why it hurt so much when, at sixteen, the Goblin King had asked for _Merry's_ hand as consort. When their Father had managed to turn the Goblin King down without insulting him, and Merry herself had turned him down, terrified when, in a form of Goblin courtship, Kurag had dropped his trousers for her, exposing his own large, intimidating member, and that of his absorbed twin, whose smaller legs dangled uselessly against his upper thigh.

Harry had crawled into Merry's bed every night for a week after, and wept for his young, broken heart as she tried to sooth him, because, despite it all, Kurag had not cast a single thought or glance his way, had not offered Harry the same honor, and that beautiful lavender eye had shed a single tear _for Merry_.

He had experienced heartache before, in many of his rebirths, but those were dulled by death, the color and emotion washed out, leaving nothing but memory that, like old films, gave images but no interest.

This heartache was bright and fresh, an open wound.

He did not wish to feel it again.

**~(Line Break)~**

Their Papa was dead by the time they turned eighteen. His beautiful, loving body savaged and hacked up, his life snuffed out by some unknown assassin, and this worthless piece of _shit_ was selling pictures of it and their grief.

Watching his sister illegally use her magic upon the foolish, disgusting worm known as Barry Jenkins, parading his worst fears in front of his eyes as he screamed and whimpered and begged for mercy on the side of this back-country road, Harry felt a vicious satisfaction when the two of them finally left.

He would have preferred to _kill_ the wretch, but their Aunt was waiting for them, and it would not do to keep the Queen waiting.

**~(Line Break)~**

It had been twelve years since they buried their father, and Harry had killed four sidhe in Duels in defense of his sister and himself. Merry had killed two, and nearly died on the Hand of a third. They had had enough.

"I will miss you," Merry whispered into his shoulder, her curvaceous, five-foot self curled protectively in his arms as they said goodbye at the airport. His own height of five-foot-three was telling, his pale brown skin now darkened to the shade of coffee with a small dose of creamer. Harry hugged his sister tightly, the two of them ensconced in their glamour's, which Merry was better at, but still. Harry had darkened his hair to black, and sheared his previously ankle-length locks to barely two inches long, while Merry's beautiful garnet hair had been "dyed" black and was now shoulder length. She pulled back, and Harry looked into her green-glamored eyes, his own burnt orange a signature of his "sidhe background".

"I will miss you too, little sister," he murmured softly, stroking a hand down her face sadly as she blinked tears from her eyes.

"No calls," she reminded him, voice tight with emotion; he nodded with a faint smile.

"No names, no letters, no message in a bottle," he replied with a teasing edge; Merry's smile was watery. With one final, bone-crushing hug, the two of them reluctantly parted ways. Merry was getting on a plane to L.A., while Harry was going to Miami.

It would be the farthest the two had ever been from each other.

Somehow, that hurt Harry more than leaving his beloved Unseelie Court.

**A/N:** Here you guys go, just a taste!


	2. One

**A/N:** Since a lot of people asked, I'll explain.

This is a crossover fic with Harry Potter and the Merry Gentry Series by Laurell K. Hamilton.

Merry Gentry is a fantasy-romance series about a modern-day Fairy Princess trying to survive in her Aunt's Court, the Unseelie Court, when she finds herself suddenly in line with said Aunt's son for the throne, and orders that, the first between them to get pregnant/get someone pregnant will become King or Queen of the Unseelie Court. It brings out prejudice, intrigue, mythology, magic, sex, and the old adage Beauty Is In The Eye Of The Beholder (Although, Princess Meredith seems to be constantly surrounded by gorgeous men and woman, that is more because that's just how the Sidhe ARE. I honestly never got why she couldn't have had a lover that was NOT utterly devastatingly beautiful in the face, but, oh well, I guess that's why I wrote this, right?)

Before anyone asks or comments, _**yes**_, I know that Merry's last name is _**Nic**_Essus, but I wrote it as _**Noc**_Essus. That's because NicEssus literally means "Daughter of Essus", so I made Noc mean Son of.

Harry is more of "If I Find You Attractive We Can Have Sex" sexual than anything, because the Unseelie Court has creatures that are not anything even _appearing_ male or female, and he's more of a love-let-love kinda person now, so I guess this is Omnisexual!Harry

Give me feedback, I'll love you forever! ^-^

**Kiss of Iron**

**One**

It was a rather cloudy day, with humidity of seventy-three percent, and a temperature of eighty. The weatherman promised rain later, and possible thunderstorms come nighttime. Harry just continued to stare out the window boredly, mechanically chewing on a piece of gum that had lost its flavor ages ago. A fly buzzed somewhere close enough to make his ears twitch faintly, but it was ignored.

He was perched on his stool at the counter, waiting for the next customer to come browsing through the small bookshop. _Faerie Tale Endings_ was a mildly popular bookshop owned by a half-Goblin, half-human named Moira Blue (her Goblin-father had given her his murky, silver-blue skin coloring and her acid-purple eyes, all four of them, but she was otherwise completely human in appearance, standing five-foot-seven with small breasts and blond hair that reached her shoulders).

Harry had worked for the half-Goblin bookstore owner for two years, and, at most, people thought he was a sidhe-wanna-be of sidhe descent. He'd carefully cultivated this image. Harry Greenwood was a cream-and-coffee skinned, five-foot-three thirty-three-year-old who looked barely twenty, with short, messy Sidhe Scarlet "dyed" hair (Harry had been so relieved when they'd come out with that color), exotic burnt-orange eyes, and pointed ears (which were a glamour, because everyone knew that only those of impure blood had pointed ears, not any true Sidhe. He and Merry didn't, of course… Gods and Goddesses, he missed his little sister…). He was polite, friendly, and playful, and wasn't someone you'd want to mess with or try to cheat. He wouldn't threaten or growl or try to intimidate. He would just smile and stand there, looking tiny and weak, and you would just get this _feeling_, like chains were wrapping around your neck and dragging you down to hell…

Well, it's safe to say, that Harry was as far as he could get from being Prince Harkin NocEssus, Son of Essus, Prince of Chains.

His first year hadn't been easy. He'd been in a slump, missing his sister while also striving to fly so low under the radar that he came off as just another sidhe-gazer. He'd spent his first year in Miami homeless, working small odd jobs, working on farms, in café's, a small stint in theatre that paid barely enough to feed him, and even flipping burgers at a McDonalds for a few weeks. It was belittling that he, a Prince of the Unseelie, would find himself forced to do such things, but his degree in linguistics and politics was attached to Prince Harkin. All it gave Harry Greenwood was an impressive looking language section and acting options.

He was just some pretty little Sidhe-Wanna-Be with the ability to mimic accents, speak several languages, and look good. Harry would have hated it, he really _should_ have hated it all, but…

He remembered starving in a cramp cupboard, desperate for the smallest scrap of bread, stomach concave and obese relatives eating everything in sight in front of him and laughing at his suffering. He remembered an entire world's survival resting on his shoulders, and being trapped in a fate he loathed.

The freedom of being just a pretty face in Miami was a breath of much-needed air. The lack of royal comfort and prestige made him more humble. He would look back on that first year, those days and nights huddled under the bridge in tattered, stained clothes, shivering in the pre-dawn cold around a small fire with several other homeless people, and he would bring that humility into himself and cherish it for the rest of his marginally extended mortal life.

Under a bridge in January, huddled against a barrel-fire with a half-dozen others is where Moira found him. She'd taken to bringing blankets and cans of food to the homeless closest to her shop once or twice a month. She'd looked at Harry with her three purple eyes, and taken a deep breath through her nose, before asking him if he liked books. And, not even a week later, Harry found himself with a job that paid a little over minimum wage, a walk-in storage closet converted into a room, and someone with enough magic in them to stop the constant, gnawing longing in his heart for his home back in Cahokia, Illinois.

The small bell above the door chimed, bringing him out of his homesick musings, and Harry perked up, his black t-shirt stretching over his lithely muscled torso fetchingly as he smiled charmingly at the middle-aged woman nervously clutching her bag and looking around.

"Hello, ma'am," he greeted her warmly, expertly using a fake accent that made it sound like he had the faintest of Irish to his voice, which was much harder than simply using the accent as a whole. "Welcome to _Faerie Tale Endings_. My name's Harry, how may I help you?" He asked kindly. The woman looked to be about forty years old, her brown hair lush and thick, her skin pale and almost gleaming. Her eyes were purple, and had a hint of a second, paler ring around the pupil. Harry firmly held his magic in place, rather than let it reach out and "taste" the woman, who obviously had some sidhe in her background.

It was incredibly rude to test someone's magic, after all, and Harry had been raised to use rudeness only when necessary.

"Do you have a back door I can leave through?" She whispered to him, and, now that he was looking, Harry could spot the bruise expertly hidden beneath make-up on her cheek, and his smile grew sharper.

"We don't, Ma'am," he told her, and watched her slump and make an aborted glance over her shoulder, her hands trembling and white-knuckled on her bag. "We do, however, had a room hidden as a closet, if you'd like to wait momentarily, and, perhaps, make a phone call?" He offered, smiling the same genial smile he'd shared with his sister whenever she was scared or nervous; the woman nodded and Harry nodded carefully towards the left far corner of the room, watching as she scuttled away, trying to look like she wasn't fleeing. Harry calmly stood up and picked up the desk phone, dialing Moira's personal "Emergency" number with that same, genial smile.

"_What is it?"_ the half-Goblin asked sharply, picking up on the second ring.

"A very fragile book came in just now," Harry told her, still smiling as he watched a large man step out of a car and begin to make his menacing way towards the storefront. "The man who held it before treated it rather badly, but I've got it holed up in a safe place now, waiting for a repair team. Unfortunately, the previous owner is about to become quite adamant about its return." He had the dubious pleasure of listening to Moira curse rather creatively and call to someone on her end in Gaelic, just as the door opened and the large man duck under the frame to step in. He wasn't handsome in a classical or physical sense, but more of a _feel_ to him that was appealing. He gave off the strong-confidant-possessive feel that a surprisingly lot of women seemed to like, but Harry had grown around men and women who could shed that cloak of almost-promised protection in a breath, and he could see the ruffled edges that hid darkness and cruelty.

"_Ahern is on his way,"_ Moira told him bluntly, and Harry gave the menacing man on the other side of his counter a polite smile and a 'one-moment-sir' sort of gesture.

"Yes, Ma'am," he said into the phone. "I will gladly hold onto the book until your friend can get here. About how long do you think it will take?" There was muttering on the other side of the phone and Harry nodded along as if they were talking to him, writing down a random book name and Ahern's name on a pad of paper, with the word HOLDING to make it appear that he was doing just that.

"_Seven minutes_," Moira told him; Harry nodded again, writing _fifteen_ down and pretending to not notice how the menacing man was watching.

"Of course, I will see your friend then, alright? Have an excellent day and that you for using _Faerie Tale Endings_. Have a blessed day." And then he hung up, before turning his glamored eyes up to the ominous man before him, taking in his neat black hair, his pale blue eyes, and confidant stance with expertly hidden dislike. He was built like a linebacker, reaching a good six-foot-five and broad with heavy muscle that seemed more genetic, a touch of Otherness coiling around him that said one of his ancestors was something Fey, and something massive. This man carried himself unlike any other massive man Harry had met thus far. Most of them carried themselves carefully, controlling their strength and knowing that if they didn't they could hurt people. They were, truly, gentle giants.

This man was not like this. He knew he was big, and strong, and he _liked_ it, hell, he _reveled_ in it, in the knowledge that he scared people and could hurt with such ease.

Harry continued to smile genially.

"Hello, Sir, my name is Harry, welcome to _Faerie Tale Endings_, how may I help you?" He asked, completely professional and polite; the man sneered coldly down at Harry, superior in his height and strength. If only he knew that Harry had beaten men his size before, had _killed_ men his size before, he would not be so dismissive, but that was Prince Harkin, _not_ Harry Greenwood.

"Where's Gloria?" he sneered; Harry blinked placidly.

"I don't know who you're talking about, Sir," Harry told him mildly, and narrowed his glamored-eyed when the man reached forward, grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, and lifted him clear of the ground, snarling into Harry's face as he leaned in close, breath smelling like tic-tacs and cigarettes.

"Listen here, you little shit," the man snarled in his face, and Harry calmly reached up and purposefully wiped spit from his face, looked the man in the eye…

And smiled.

"You're early," he said, simply, and watched the flash of confusion on the mans face just before a large hand clamped cruelly on his shoulder and he was ripped away from Harry, who's shirt ripped as it was still in the humans hold even as he yelped, startled.

"We thought it prudent to hurry," the deep, dark voice of Ahern replied as the huge Fey glared darkly down at the wide-eyed, gaping man in his grip while Harry silently stripped his tattered shirt off and smiled. Ahern's father had been an ogre, and his mother something rather equine in appearance. As a result, the man was reminiscent in height as the long-ago form of Harry's friend Hagrid, with a decidedly horse-like face and the lower body of one as well. It was like a Clydesdale started to transform into a man and got stuck once her had thumbs. His skin matched that as well, a deep, chestnut brown covered in short, downy-soft hair, large, bulbous gray eyes, and black hands to match his black hoofed feet, longer, softer feathering of white fur gracing his wrists and ankles, and a mane of that white hair gracing his head and stopping at his massive, bulging shoulder blades.

"What the fuck?!" the human in his grip shrieked, and Harry chuckled as he caught sight of the flashing red-and-blue lights pulling up behind the car the man had left, conveniently parked illegally. At the sight of the police, the man thrashed and snarled furiously, spewing hate and disgust from his mouth, and Harry had to bite back the urge to summon his faithful chains and rattle them ominously, a tactic that had almost always served him in silencing some fool. The door opened with a familiar chime, and Harry smiled calmly at the two officers who entered, wide-eyed and hands straying to their guns as they took in Ahern's form easily holding the writhing, thrashing form of the screaming, furious man.

"What the hell is going on?!" The first officer demanded; Harry lifted a hand, easily getting their attention.

"A woman came in seeking a hiding place, bruised and terrified, so I hid her in a backroom and told her to call the police, and then this gentleman came in," he gestured to the thrashing man with a bland smile, "and began threatening me and demanding we hand her over. He even grabbed my shirt and lifted me off the ground, and the store security guard came off his break to find him threatening to hurt me, and decided that it would be best to hold him until the police arrived." Harry nodded toward the officers, and watched as one called for backup, before the two of them, with Ahern's assistance, got the screaming man on the ground and handcuffed, having to taser him twice before he stopped resisting. Only after he was safely in the back of a police car did Harry lead two of the officers to his room, where he found the woman, Gloria, curled up on the floor between the cot and the wall in a corner, weeping in terror.

"Mrs. Barnes?" One of the officers asked gently, and Gloria sobbed. "We're taking your husband into custody. Do you have someone you can stay with for a while?" Shakily, the woman nodded, stumbling to her feet and shuffling towards the officers, pausing to grip Harry's hands tightly in her own.

"Thank you," she whispered fiercely, and Harry gave her that same, soft smile he usually kept for Merry, and tucked a strand of hair behind the woman's ear.

"Anytime," he told her, and watched as the officers escorted her to one of their cars, and drove away to wherever she would be staying. Shaking his head, Harry turned his attention to Ahern with a warm smile.

"I appreciate you showing up so fast, Ahern," he told the Fey, knowing better than to thank him. Ahern was one of the older Fey, well over two thousand years old, and took offence to being thanked. The Fey huffed, a distinctly human sound, and Harry smiled as he picked up the rags that were once his shirt, wincing slightly at it.

He had liked that shirt.

"It was nothing," Ahern told Harry as the redhead carefully began the process of reorganizing the mess the counter had become in the brief altercation. As Harry knelt to begin picking up the many offered bookmarks the store sold, Ahern continued.

"What kind of Fey would I be if I didn't come when my Prince summoned me?"

Harry dropped the bookmarks, hands numb, smile disappearing as he froze, blank eyes watching, as if from a distance, as the brightly-colored little sheets of cardboard spread out around him like a glittering, ominous wave.

Lifting his head slowly, chest burning as he forgot to breath, Harry met those knowing, watchful gray eyes, and knew he'd been found out.

**A/N:** CLIFFHANGER

Ahern – Gaelic name, means Lord of the Horses.

GIVE ME FEEDBACK PLEASE AND THANK YOU!


	3. Two

**A/N:** Thank you for all the feedback! I'm probably boredly going to draw up some crappy fanart for this eventually, because while I'm not very good at it, I DO like to draw

Give me feedback, please and thank you!

**Kiss of Iron**

**Two**

His heart was lodged in his throat, fluttering like a panicked, trapped bird, until all he could hear was its frantic beating. Harry could only sit there on his knees, staring up at this Fey he had trusted, and know that all Ahern had to say was his name, and the air and shadows would carry it on swift wings to his Aunt, Queen Andais, and his death warrant would be signed and, with it, his sisters.

"How long," Harry managed, the words coming out tight and hoarse, and his hold upon his glamour was threatened as his Chains longed to be called, to remove the threat. Ahern just looked at him with serious gray eyes.

"Since we met," he replied mildly in his thunderously deep voice, and Harry took a slow, shaky breath, struggling to hold onto the control he'd been known for while at the Court, the same control that allowed him to smile politely through his duels even as he killed those he challenged or challenged him. He wondered, briefly, wildly, if he would have to kill his friend. If he did, Moira would try to kill him, and he'd be forced to kill her as well, the risk to Merry would be too great, and he'd have to leave again, to travel as far as he could while remaining in the states.

Their blood would stain his hands darker than any others, because he cared for them, but his sister's welfare and safety came first.

Always.

Harry bowed his head, and the ominous, rattling hiss of his Chains was heard. His glamour peeled away like a piece of tape, clinging tight as it was forced down, and Harry lifted his steel-hard gaze, the different shades of green glowing as his willpower fed them, and, despite being on his knees, Harry felt like he was on a throne as he met the wide, realization-filled eyes of the Fey before him.

"Wait!" Ahern said, hands shooting up, palms up, and Harry's Chains tore from the stone and wood around them, knocking down shelves of books uncaringly, wrapping his friend up tight to prevent his movement as Harry's glamour finished melting away, and Prince Harkin NocEssus, Son of Essus, Prince of Chains, rose slowly to his feet, for he knelt for none but the Queen. His magic coiled around him like a cloak, flooding the room with dark promises as he gazed upon his friend, who was trembling in fear, and, as Harry watched, Ahern fell to his knees and bowed his head.

"Please," he whispered again, and Harry steeled his heart for what he was about to do.

"Wait!" A voice cried, and Harry stiffened, turning his head, and Moira staggered under his gaze as she scrambled through the front door, the bell not making a sound as its owner passed. She fell to her knees beside Ahern, and bowed deep enough that her forehead nearly touched the ground, her French-braided hair in a neat bun at the base of her skull.

"We're not a threat!" She gasped pleadingly as Harry stared coldly down at their kneeling forms. "We're no threat to you or your sister! We swear, on our honor and the dark that eats all things, we've breathed not a single hint of your names, nor that of your Aunt or Cousin or Father, none of your names have left our lips! We swear it!" Harry took a slow, deep breath, tasting the magic in the air as the half-Goblin made her Vow on the most sacred things to the sidhe, and let his breath out slowly, shoulders relaxing as his Chains hissed and slowly faded away into mist and vapors.

If they broke this Vow, they would be cursed, and it would not be a pleasant ending, _at all_.

"I apologize," Ahern spoke shakily, voice heavily subdued, small cuts lining his body from where Harry's Chains had wrapped too tightly, their blades unkind. Harry nodded sharply, and gestured at the two of them to stand, refusing to let even a flicker of regret pass his conscious.

He would have grieved for them, but he would have killed them anyways, had they posed a threat to his sister. He would kill the Queen herself if it meant his sister's life, and the only thing that had kept their Cousin, Cel, from death had been his Aunt's cruelty, which, in her grief, she would have unleashed on his little sister, and Harry had no way of being with Merry every second of every day against the whole of the Unseelie Court.

His Aunt would have won, and Harry would have killed her, but he would not be happy. An Unseelie Court without a Meredith was just static, stale and broken and blackened with hateful, hurtful memories, and not worth it.

"Perhaps we should all sit down and talk?" Moira offered quietly, nervously tugging at the dark gray blouse she wore, which went very well with her smooth silver-gray skin. Harry gave her a mild smile, and let some polite heat into his eyes as he gave her an appreciative once-over, taking in her slender curved body, pretty skin, and short black skirt with matching heels. It was only polite, after all, to show appreciation when someone obviously dressed to look good, and it would serve to ease some of the tension.

"You look very nice, Moira," he told her truthfully; the half-Goblin gave him an anxious smile, her four eyes tight. Two rested where they were meant to on a human, while her other two eyes rest below them and back a ways, until the darker purple spheres that mimicked proper pupils, were directly below the farthest corners of her properly-set eyes.

"As do you, Harry," she replied with equal honesty, eyeing his exposed six-pack with genuine interest as Ahern quickly left them to start a kettle of tea in the small kitchenette in the office area. Harry did not begrudge the older Fey his need of space. Harry himself was feeling shaky, but he held himself with iron control, lest his Chains rattle threateningly and scare his friends again.

"How did you find me, two years ago?" Harry asked Moira, once the quiet became unsettling and uncomfortable. The half-Goblin rubbed her hands absently up and down her forearms, and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"I smelled Royal Blood in you, Harry," she told him softly. "I thought, at first, you might be some unknown bastard, but, when you lifted you head and looked at me, I recognized the shape of your eyes and jaw as Pr-Your father's," she corrected herself sharply, lips thinning as she shook her head, hands tightening on her elbows. "And saw your mothers mouth... I couldn't believe it when I realized you'd been living on the streets rather than in the Court." Harry carefully retook his perch on his stool, now ignoring the bookmarks and other things that still littered the ground, resting his elbows on the counter and lacing his fingers out in front of him, just he had for years, ever since he started copying his father when Essus would let him and Merry sit in on his meetings back when they were younger.

The smile he let curl his lips was nostalgic, and grew more so as Ahern carefully set a cup filled with mint tea at his elbow. It had been his fathers favored tea, and Harry's least favorite, until that cold day when he turned eighteen and his world had shattered for the first time, and he'd nearly forgotten how to see light in the world, until Merry had needed _him_ to be her light.

He hadn't been able to stomach any tea but that specific flavor ever since.

Grief was the strangest of things. It, along with the other strong emotions, like Love, Hate, and Fear, they changed a person, sometime sin bigger, greater ways, and sometimes in small, seemingly insignificant ways. Sometimes, that change was for the worse, and sometimes for the better.

It all depended on teh strength of the person and their feelings.

"Where do we go from here?" Harry asked his two friends as they nervously settled on the chairs Ahern had brought out for them, Moira holding her own cup of tea while Ahern clutched at his massive personal mug, no doubt filled with coffee...

And probably a good dose of whiskey as well.

"Where do you want to go?" Ahern asked him cautiously, and Harry lifted his cup and simply breathed it in, not quite willing to take a sip of what could be a poisoned drink. Not that he believed Ahern would poison him, but he'd learned quickly that it is much better to be safe at the risk of being impolite, than to be polite and end up dead. As he breathed in the familiar, bittersweet scent of his tea, Harry mused on what he should do.

"Personally, I would like to say that I'd rather we pretend this day never happened for us," he told the two Fey seriously, quietly, "but I cannot risk it. My sister's life relies on my secrecy as much as hers, and I will _not_ risk it. So, tonight I'll gather my things, and by dawn I'll be gone," he told them grimly, and Moira looked surprised and worried, while Ahern grimaced but nodded tightly, understanding Harry's need to protect.

"Where will you go?" Moira couldn't help but ask, and Ahern's ear twitched back instinctively, unhappy, not that Harry could blame him, it was considered rather rude to ask personal questions, and especially rude, downright suicidal, to question a Royal, but Harry took it in stride, by now used to the more human nature of his employer/subject. He'd lived on the street for a year, being asked such things had long ago been surprised out of him, and now he only shook his head with his genial, polite smile.

"It would be best for all of us that you didn't know," he informed them kindly. "After all, if you honestly don't know where I've gone, they're much less likely to try and torture you to death for information." Moira shivered and scooted closer to Ahern, who protectively wrapped one massive arm around the willowy woman. Finally, Harry took a sip of his tea, closing his eyes briefly to enjoy the lukewarm liquid, memories of his father pulled forward by the familiar taste. Of lazy afternoons watching Merry and Papa play chess, of Papa cursing when Merry was finally able to beat him thanks to the extra lessons she was getting from Bhatar, the crippled Nightflyer that was her personal Guard. He also remembered learning Nightflyer Anatomy when he and Merry had finally got curious enough to ask about the mans tentacles.

He remembered sitting on his Papa's lap as the man filled out paperwork. Sitting next to him at his meetings, even the boring ones where Harry entertained himself by drawing on his notepad and making the irritating visitors get eaten by ridiculous things, like penguins. It had always made his Papa laugh, and Merry grin, and erased some of the stress from his Papa's eyes.

Of course, he remembered the bad times too. His Papa and Besaba, his "mother", arguing. He remembered nights where Merry cried herself to sleep because the women of the Courts mocked her for not being pretty enough, pure enough, just _enough_. Remembered himself crying a time or two, more out of frustration that he couldn't say something back when people insulted him or his sister or their kind, half-Brownie Gran.

Remembered his Father's funeral.

Remembered the first time he drank mint tea, and spent ten minutes crying alone at the table because he'd made it on accident and the smell alone broke his heart.

Before he knew it, his cup was empty, and Harry was setting it down with a soft _chink_ on the countertop, staring into the bottom of it silently. With a soft sigh, Harry reached up, and dragged his fingers through his short hair, grimacing as he carefully reapplied all of his glamors and illusions.

"Why the orange eyes?" Moira asked as Harry just continued to stare into his cup and brood, and Harry blinked, looking up at the half-Goblin curiously. "You could have picked any other color, blended in better or anything. Why that color?" Harry felt his lips twitch, amused.

"That's been bothering you for a while, hasn't it?" He asked her; Moira huffed and rolled her four eyes in tandem.

"It really has," she admitted; Harry chuckled and shook his head.

"This particular shade belonged to my father," he informed the woman, before pushing himself to his feet, and obligingly handing his empty teacup to Ahern when the old Fey offered to take it. "I am going to go start collecting my things," he told the two of them, glancing at the nearest clock and seeing that it was almost time for closing. Moira nodded and jumped to her feet.

"We'll clean up what's left of this mess," she reassured him and, smiling, Harry inclined his head to first her, and then Ahern, who gave him a nod so deep it was nearly a bow.

"Until morrow greets you," the horse-like Fey told him; Harry gave him a deeper inclination at the old saying.

"Until night embraces you again," he replied softly, and slipped through the shelves and back into his room. Once the door was closed behind him, Harry took a slow, deep breath, and just stood there, forehead resting against the wood, and staring downward in thought.

This day could have gone so very, very bad, from beginning to end, and could still go bad if he didn't tread carefully. Lifting his hands, he stared down at them, eyes tracing the glamored areas where he knew his sword-practice calluses were, hidden by a small, easy illusion, and marveled at the fact that his hands didn't tremble.

Illusions, he knew, were both different and similar to glamours. They were both used to change perspective, both affecting the sight, but, unlike glamours, illusions could trick all the senses. He had an instinctual grasp on illusions, able to make things that his sister struggled viciously with. Able to hide or create things his sister could not. Just as Merry was able to pull of personal glamours that, honestly, boggled his mind.

Shaking his thoughts straight, Harry turned and took in his room, which had been vaguely rearranged by Gloria when she'd moved as many pieces of furniture between herself and the door while hiding in there. Which meant she moved his comfortable cot and his small, thin bookshelf and the filing cabinet that worked as his clothing dresser.

Sighing, Harry started re-arranging the room back to his liking, magic slipping out in little, teasing flickers to make sure that nothing insidious had been placed, before he began to pull all of his clothing from his cabinet, carefully folding the clothes into a backpack he always had in the bottom drawer. Sighing as he finished, Harry sat on his cot for a few minutes, and just stared at the tiny room around him. It wasn't much, cramped and empty, bare of much of anything…

But, for two years, it was his, and it was safe. Now he would have to leave it.

Breathing in the slightly-stale air, scented with that dusty, paper smell of books, Harry closed his eyes and leaned backward, slowly falling down onto his cot, eyes closed against the light of his overhead.

_I miss you, Merry_, he thought sadly, opening his eyes to stare up at that bare bulb.

_I miss Papa, and Gran, and our friends_, he thought, watching that light until his vision was almost completely covered by the sunspots and he was forced to blink them away with a small wince.

_I miss home_.

There was a soft, fluting sound from the depths of his bag, and, blinking, Harry sat up and lifted it into his lap, confused for a second, before he remembered.

His Mirror was in it.

The Mirror only Merry knew about, the same one he'd first seen his reflection in, back when he was three, and had seen no issue with stealing it from Besaba's things.

Once more, Harry got to feel that horrible fear, that heart-in-the-throat tightness, his ears deafened by the frantic pounding in his neck as he scrambled carelessly through his clothes and dragged the Mirror from it's depths, breath catching in his throat before, with a purposefully slow breath, he closed his eyes and grasped once more at that control he was famous for.

Letting out the breath, he opened his eyes, and stared at the softly rippling glass in the mirror. With a soft flicker of his magic, he accepted the call, and felt his heart clench as, for the first time in three years, he saw his sister's face.

She was wearing green, her favorite color, he noticed, a deep, beautiful green suit jacket that clung to her rather ample breasts enough to let him know she was wearing nothing underneath it. She was paler, and not just from the lack of glamour, but from the unease he saw in her beautiful, Seelie eyes, jade green on liquid gold on emerald green, her natural, garnet-spun hair a tumbling, wavy mess just above her shoulders.

"Sister," Harry whispered, near reverently as his eyes scoured her face for anything, any sign that she was injured or dying or being chased, and Meredith smiled, tears rising in her beautiful eyes and, without thought, his carefully constructed glamours and illusions fell away.

"_Brother_," she replied softly, lovingly, and Harry could only smile back, his own eyes stinging as the two of them just sat there, grinning like fools as they basked in their twins presence.

"What's wrong?" He finally managed to ask, breathing in shakily, and Meredith copied him, and seemed to steel herself.

"_I've been discovered,_" she told him simply, and his smile froze as his heart and stomach both _dropped_.

**A/N:** CLIFFHANGER!

…

AGAIN!

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  
Please leave Feedback!... Also, did I get things right? Is it still coming off as Merry Gentry sorta style? I needed a chapter about how ruthless Harry can be, because, lets face it, he's a big brother in the Unseelie Court, boys gotta be nasty when riled.

Review! Tell me how y'all feel!

Thank you!


	4. Three

**A/N:** Mwahahaha, All the Cliffhangers! I'm so evil, I love it!

Give me feedback, please and thank you!

**Kiss of Iron**

**Three**

Harry sat quietly in his First Class seat, watching the clouds roll by outside. As soon as Merry had explained everything to him, from Branwyn's Tears to the Slaugh and Their King to the Queen's Darkness Himself and their Aunts "request", Harry had bought himself the first ticket he could to L.A., and gotten dropped off by Ahern only to find that he'd been moved to First Class and everything was paid for, by his Aunt.

Of course.

Accepting the wine his flight attendant gave him, Harry graced her with a politely heated look, taking in her purposefully mussed dark brown hair and neatly executed eye shadow and eye liner. He smiled at her when she flushed lightly, and watched her walk away with that hip sway that said she recognized his look and appreciated it. Sipping the white Moscato, Harry leaned back and once more stared out the window.

In a few hours, he would be seeing his little sister in person for the first time in years.

Sipping his wine, Harry couldn't wait.

**~(Line Break)~**

"Harry," someone whispered across the crowded airport as he stepped through the gateway and off his plane, backpack in hand, and Harry froze, his bag falling off his shoulder and onto the ground at his feet with a thump as he stared at who was waiting for him.

Merry was standing there, very still with her Seelie eyes wide, next to Doyle, the Queen's Darkness, his deep, inhumanly black skin, like a midnight sky during an eclipse, standing out starkly against the moonbeam-pale skin of Harry's sister. Her spun-garnet hair looked like blood, its Unseelie black highlights brought out by the Guard's own ink-black hair, braided back to make the illusion of being short as he stood in all black clothes and duster, face blank and unreadable, while Merry's own face was wide-eyed and hopeful.

"Merry," Harry whispered, the name travelling over the distance like her own did, despite the hustle and bustle of the airport around them. Merry took a step forward, dressed in black slacks and a white t-shirt under a soft-looking black jacket. Harry took a shaky step forward too, unable to stop staring, until, suddenly, the spell was broken, and the two of them were lunging forward, making the distance disappear as they slammed into one another in a tight, bone-crushing hug, their glamours and illusions disappearing under their too-strong emotions, and Harry couldn't help but laugh joyously, Merry joining him as, for the first time in three years, he finally felt like he was _home_.

Their joy had their skin glowing, Merry's silvery moonlight and Harry's golden sunlight wrapping around one another, brighter and brighter until it looked like the moon and the sun were intertwined, and no one could look directly at them for several minutes, not even Doyle, who was forced to raise a hand to block out their light. After a while, the glowing died down, and the two of them stood, smiling and crying and still laughing, as the glow finally disappeared, and the were able to bring up just enough glamour (for Merry) and illusion (for Harry) so that no one was elf-struck.

"I have missed you, little sister," Harry told her once their laughter had wound down, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to gently wipe away her tears, even as she tenderly wiped away his own, his heart soaring as he stared into her Seelie green-gold eyes.

"And I've missed you, brother," she told him softly, and the two hugged again, tightly, and Harry's face hurt from smiling so widely. Merry finally pulled away, wiping at her face with his 'kerchief with a shake of her head, and beamed up at him, eyes gleaming with the same, brightly mischievous look that had once absorbed her whole being when they were younger, sneaking out of the sithin to go to college parties despite being told they couldn't go.

"Come on, Doyle will get impatient," Merry ordered, and, clutching his hand in hers, just as she did on their little adventures when they were young children, Merry all but dragged Harry back to his bag and then onto a plane heading to St. Louis, Missouri.

To Home.

"Doyle," Harry greeted mildly once the three of them were on the plane, once again in First Class. Merry had gotten the window seat, and Harry sat next to her with Doyle in the aisle seat. The warrior inclined his head politely.

"Prince Harkin," he rumbled quietly, and Harry politely admired the gorgeous man. Doyle's skin was smooth, flawless, and stood out eerily against the conservative blue of his seat. His eyes were so black they looked like pure pupil on white sclera. His ears were sharply pointed, giving away his mixed heritage, and he'd studded the entire length of those long, admittedly cute ears with silver and diamond hoops and studs, the metal gleaming against the unending night of his skin and ankle-length hair like trapped stars.

"You are looking _very_ well since last I saw you," Harry told him with honesty, admiring him. "Of course, that's your usual look, but it is always a treat to see it." Doyle managed a mild, polite smile in return, even as he lost some of his color, turning a dark gray, as the plane started to take off, the rumbling engine and shudder of turbulence making the ancient warrior shudder.

"You, too, look well, Prince," the sidhe managed, and Harry chuckled.

"Harkin, or Harry, please, Doyle," he told the warrior, and accepted the tight nod as answer, leaving the obviously uncomfortable man to form a death-grip on his armrests while Harry turned his attention to his patiently waiting sister, smiling brightly at her, the soft, loving smile he'd always been able to hold for her.

"Tell me what you've done these last three years, Merry," he cajoled, and they laced their fingers together, leaning their shoulders against one another while she did just that, telling him about The Grey Detective Agency, about her boss and co-workers there. In return, when she'd finished, Harry told her of living on the streets, under the radar, working odd jobs here and there before Moira and Ahern had taken him in, though he'd only found out the day she'd called him that they'd known who he was the entire time.

"Honestly, I could have made a ridiculous amount of money in the porn industry," he told her, chuckling and nodding with a politely heated look to the pretty flight attendant, a leggy blond with near-perfect makeup, who brought him a water bottle, only for her to focus most of her attention on the obviously sidhe form of Doyle, making Harry smile wryly at the insult she'd inadvertently given him by ignoring his appreciation. Sometimes, humans were ridiculously rude by Fey standards, all without knowing. "I got offered parts in so many 'private movies' that first year, and I would have agreed, you know, but all I could think is some random sidhe seeing those videos, and the Queen getting interested enough that either she or that sidhe called on me for their _own_ private showing, and I had to decline the offers." Merry laughed softly at him, and Harry felt himself smiling warmly back at her, enjoying that sweet, delighted laughter.

As the flight went on, the two of them fell into comfortable silence, ignoring the turbulence and the heavily flirtatious flight attendant who seemed to only have eyes for Doyle.

"How can you possible be afraid of flying?" Merry finally asked the man, and Harry bit back a chuckle at his sister's curiosity. Doyle answered her without opening his tightly-clenched eyes.

"I am not afraid of flying," he told her honestly, simply. "I am afraid of flying in airplanes." Harry obligingly leaned back as his sister leaned over him to see the Guard.

"So you could ride a flying steed and not be afraid?" she asked him, and Doyle nodded, finally opening his eyes as the plane leveled out, and Harry offered him his, as yet, unopened bottle of water, which Doyle accepted politely, opening it with a deft twist of his fingers and taking a cautious sip, before re-capping it and handing it back.

"I have ridden beasts of the air many times," the warrior answered Merry, who tilted her head curiously.

"So why do planes bother you?" She asked; the look Doyle gave her, as if the answer was obvious and she should know it, made Harry equal parts amused and annoyed on his sisters behalf, but he held his tongue, opening his water as Merry sat back into her seat properly so Harry could sip his water without spilling it.

"It is the metal, Princess Meredith," Doyle told her. "I am not comfortable surrounded by so much manmade metal. It acts as a barrier between me and the earth, and I am a creature of the earth." Merry settled back in her chair with a small, secretive smile.

"As you said, Doyle," she told him mildly. "There are benefits to not being pure sidhe. I don't have a problem with metal." Harry chuckled at the look that crossed Doyle's face as he turned his head, just enough to see Merry while still being fully pressed into his chair.

"You can do major arcane within such a metal tomb?" he asked; Merry nodded.

"I've never found any magic that I can't perform just as well inside a metal tomb, as I can outside of one," Merry told him and, when Doyle looked at Harry, the Prince could only smile mildly back.

"I find I can perform magic _better_ within metal than not," Harry informed him calmly. "My Chains come quicker and come stronger the more metal they can absorb." Doyle turned his head back, closing his eyes again, this time looking thoughtful.

"That could be very useful, Princess, Prince," he murmured, and the three of them fell once more into silence as the leggy flight attendant once more paused beside Doyle's seat, bending over enough to make sure the warrior would get a good look at her cleavage, if he wanted it. She'd made sure he had a chance view every time she came by his seat, especially the three times she'd come by in the last twenty minutes, and, had Harry been interested in her, he could have found her focus on the Guard rather than himself a nasty insult and could have, if so inclined, had Doyle punished for it. His Cousin, Cel, would have, and his Aunt Andais would have as well, most likely.

Harry just found it incredibly amusing, and Merry did as well, if the smile she hid by stealing a brief sip of her twin's water was anything to go by.

The flight attendant, as she had every time she'd stopped by, asked is Doyle wanted anything, anything at _all_, and Merry asked for red wine after the warrior, once again, declined. A few moments later, the flight attendant returned, this time with Merry's wine, which, because it was first class, was served in a long-stemmed glass, the better to spill all over yourself when the plane hit turbulence.

Which it did, the plane bucking and swerving so badly that half Merry's glass ended up on Harry before she managed to hand it back to the flight attendant, accepting the wad of napkins in return. Quickly, Merry wiped her hand clean with some, handing Harry the rest, which he used to dab at the dark, wet stains on his black shirt and jeans. Once again, Doyle's eyes were clenched tight, his skin paler than before, as he kept repeating to all the woman's questions,

"No, thank you, I'm fine." She didn't actually offer to have sex with him right there and then, but the invitation was clear, and Harry chuckled softly when she finally got the hint and stumbled carefully away, forced to hold on tightly to the backs of seats as she made her way down the aisle. The turbulence continued, until Doyle looked positively gray and Harry's own stomach was queasy.

"Are you alright?" Merry asked the Guard; Doyle simply squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, jaw tense as he clenched his mouth shut.

"I will be fine once we are safely on the ground," he managed to grit out; Harry shook his head faintly.

"Is there anything I can do to help pass the time?" Merry continued, and Harry grinned when Doyle opened his eyes a slit and replied mildly,

"I think the stewardess made that offer already."

"Stewardess is a sexist term," Merry responded aptly, not even bating a lash at his tart reply. "It's flight attendant." Harry refrained from shaking his head at her, smiling fondly. "So, you _did_ pick up on her hints," she continued, and Harry couldn't help but snort slightly.

_Hints_. Right.

"I don't think squeezing my thigh and brushing my shoulder with her breasts count as hints," Doyle replied mildly. "More invitations."

"You ignored her beautifully," Merry complimented.

"I have had much practice." The plane rocked violently enough that Harry grimaced and Merry looked distinctly unhappy, the two of them squeezing the others hand tightly on instinct.

"Do you really want to help this flight pass more quickly?" Doyle managed to say; Merry nodded, breathing slowly and pointedly to most likely settle her queasy stomach while Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"I owe you at least that much after you flashed your official Guard badge and we both got on the plane with our weapons," she told him, and Harry would feel bad about not being armed, but his Chains could, literally, come from anything around him, as long as it was metal or mineral, so he had just never felt the need. "I know legally we're both allowed to carry in the U.S., but it doesn't usually go that smooth or that quick." Doyle nodded carefully.

"It helped that the police escorted us to the gates, Princess," he told her, and Harry blinked, casting a curious look to his sister, who just smiled at him like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, and he rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the headrest, content to let the two talk around him. He preferred to listen to others conversations, anyways.

"The cops seemed eager to get me on the plane," Merry offered.

"They feared you might get assassinated on their…turf," Doyle told her. "They did not want to be responsible for your safety." Harry clenched his jaw tight at the idea of his sister getting assassinated, and the faintest hiss of his Chains could be heard before it disappeared as he took a slow, deep breath to regain his famous control.

"So _that's_ how you got me on the plane armed," Merry continued, not noticing Harry's brief slip, though Harry felt Doyle twitch slightly on his other side, and knew the Guard had noticed.

"I told them that with only one bodyguard, it would be safer if you, yourself, were armed," the Guard told her. "Everyone agreed."

The plane dipped so suddenly that Merry gasped, and Harry hissed through gritted teeth, opening his eyes to glare at the seat in front of them unhappily as his sister clenched his hand tightly and Harry's free hand curled into a white-knuckled fist.

"Talk to me, Meredith," Doyle gasped out, and Harry noted the change in address the same way one in a stressful situation grasps at something to distract themselves. He wondered what had happened between his sister and his Aunt's Darkness to bring out that informal address.

"About what?" She asked.

"_Anything_," he hissed.

"We could talk about last night," Merry offered pointedly, voice mild, and Harry glanced at her from the corner of his eye, seeing her half-lidded eyes and politely interested face, the same look she'd cultivated for the Court. Doyle opened his eyes just enough to glare at her, until the plane once more dove, and his eyes snapped shut and he swallowed heavily.

"Tell me a story," he almost whispered, and Harry couldn't help but place his free hand on the mans closest, which had such a harsh grip on the armrest that the Prince could begin seeing hairline fractures in the plastic. Immediately, Doyle turned his hand and clasped Harry's own so tightly that he could feel the bones shift. Harry didn't wince, however, merely held on and rubbed his thumb "absently" across Doyle's knuckles soothingly.

"I'm not very good at stories," Merry told him; Doyle made an aborted noise in the depths of his throat, and Harry spoke up.

"I'll tell you a story," he said, voice the same soft, quiet calmness he'd used back when he and Merry were children, and she'd had a bad day, either at Court or in general.

"Please," Doyle said hoarsely; Harry nodded his head calmly and gave Merry's hand a soft, reassuring squeeze.

"It will be a familiar tale," he told the Guard quietly. "One you've probably heard told several times, but, as you know, a story changes with each telling, as others opinions and points of view shade it." Doyle breathed shallowly, and swallowed again as the plane shook.

"Our Uncle on our Mother's side is Uar the Cruel," Harry began calmly. "Other than being a complete and utter bastard, he earned his the name because he fathered three sons that were monsters even by Fey terms, and no blooded Fey woman would sleep with him, terrified that they would bear more like his sons. He had been told that, if he could find someone of Fey blood who would willingly sleep with him, he could father normal children. That is where our maternal grandmother, Hettie, comes in," Harry continued soothingly, his thumb continuing its absent rubbing as he told the rather common tale of their mother's family.

"Gran is half-Brownie, half-human," Harry continued, eyes focused on the headrest of the seat in front of him, though he could feel his sister staring a hole in the side of his head. "She was willing to sleep with Uar because she wanted, more than anything, to be part of the Seelie Court." The plane has straightened out while he spoke, but was still shuddering ominously as wind buffeted it from every side.

"Gran bore him two beautiful twin girls, and Uar's curse was ended. Gran was one of the Ladies of the Court now, Uar's wife, because she had borne him children. To our knowledge, he never bedded her again after that, because he was one of the fair and shining gentlemen, and she was a half-blooded fey." Bitterness coiled through Harry's chest that he expertly kept from his voice, as he remembered others who believed those of Mixed Blood were lesser.

"He was a powerful warrior," Doyle commented, eyes still closed.

"Who?" Merry asked, and Harry fell silent so the two could speak.

"Uar."

"That's right," Merry realized. "You must have fought against him in the wars in Europe."

"He was a very worthy opponent," Doyle acknowledged.

"Are you trying to make me feel better about him?" Merry asked, and Harry tightened his hold on her hand in gentle warning. Emotions are dangerous things, easily manipulated, so letting another know you liked or disliked something, especially the Queen's Darkness, was not wise.

The plane had been flying straight enough that Doyle seemed comfortable enough to open his eyes completely and look at the Royal Unseelie Twins.

"You both seemed very bitter just now," he responded calmly, and Harry felt his eyes twitch, and scolded himself for letting such a thing through. Merry had no such qualms.

"Our grandfather beat our Gran for years," she told him voice cold yet heated. "He thought that if he could hurt her enough, he'd drive her away from Court, because _legally_, he couldn't divorce her without he permission. He couldn't put her aside because she'd given him children." Harry squeezed her hand comfortingly, and let his face chill while he smiled genially at Doyle.

"Why did she not simply leave him?" The Guard asked.

"Because," Harry told the man quietly, "if she were no longer Uar's wife, she would no longer be welcome at the Seelie Court, and they would never have allowed her to take her daughters with her. So, she stayed, to make sure her children would be safe."

"The Queen was most puzzled when your Father invited your Mother's Mother to accompany the three of you into exile," Doyle commented, politely changing the subject a little, and Harry let his expression warm a few degrees.

"Gran was his Lady of the House," Merry informed the Guard. "She oversaw the household for him."

"She was a servant, then," Doyle assumed, incorrectly, and now both siblings glared at him.

"No," Harry corrected firmly. "She was his right hand. They raised us, the two of them, for those ten years after we left."

"When you left the Court this last time, so did you grandmother," Doyle told them, face blank, voice mild. "She opened a bed-and-breakfast." Merry nodded and Harry sat back again.

"I've seen the write-ups in the magazines," she informed him. "Victoria, Good Housekeeping. Brownie's Bed-and-Breakfast, where you can be waited on, cooked for, by an ex-member of the Royal Court." Harry bit back a grimace, and wondered if their Gran enjoyed her life away from the perils of Court.

"Have you not spoken with her since you left three years ago?" Doyle asked, genuinely curious, and the Twins both shook their heads.

"We haven't contacted _anyone_, Doyle," Merry told him.

"No calls, no names, no letters," Harry added. "No message in a bottle." Merry smiled at him, before focusing on the Guard again.

"It would have endangered anyone we did contact," she pointed out. "We disappeared. That means we left everything and everyone behind."

"There were jewels, heirlooms, that were yours by right," Doyle told them slowly. "The Queen was amazed that you left with nothing but the clothes on your backs."

"Any jewels would have been impossible to sell without it getting back to the Courts," Harry pointed out calmly. "Same with the Heirlooms."

"You also had the money that your Father had put away for you both," Doyle calmly continued, watching the both of them now with something unreadable in his eclipse-black eyes.

"We've been on our own for three years, Doyle," Harry told him calmly, Merry picking it up.

"A little over. We've taken nothing from anyone. We have been a woman and man on our own, not even relying on each other, free of the obligation to anyone of the Fey."

"And before you point out Moira and Ahern," Harry added quickly, firmly, "I was a paid employee, and I worked for my paycheck. They didn't give it to me for who I was, I _earned_ that money, and therefore have no obligation to either of them."

"Which means you can invoke Virgin Rights when you return to Court," Doyle murmured, a flash of pleased admiration crossing his face before it blanked to the calmness of still waters once more, but that old adage stands.

_Still waters run deep._

"Exactly," Merry agreed, settling back and looking pleased. Virgin in the old Celtic ideal was a woman who stood on her own, owing nothing to anyone for a space of time. Three years was the minimum for claiming it at Court. To be a Virgin meant that one was outside any old feuds or grudges. He or she couldn't be forced to take sides on any issue, because they stood apart from all of it. It was a way of being part of the Court, without being part of the Court, and while it was an old Right mostly used by women, men could claim it as well. Most preferred to call Independence, however, which was both similar and far different.

Declaring yourself Independent meant that you stood apart from any family matters or old alliances. The minimum one had to live on their own without any assistance was five years, and then, once claimed, meant that you couldn't accept help from your family or their allies, and had to start yourself from scratch instead. It used to be the only way to become a true Lord in the Courts, thousands of years before. A Firstborn Male exiled themselves from their family and the Court, and came back five years to claim themselves Independent. Whether they gained enough power and prestige to become a Lord was all on their character, power, and intelligence.

"Very good," Doyle murmured. "Very good… You know the law and how to use it for your benefit." He nodded approvingly. "You are wise as well as polite, a true marvel for Unseelie Royals."

"Being Virgin allowed us to make hotel reservations without risking the Queen's anger," Merry pointed out, pleased, and Harry gave her a small, soft smile.

"She was puzzled as to why you did not wish to stay at the Court," Doyle admitted. "After all, you want to return to us, do you not?" Harry inclined his head.

"Yes, we do," he told the Guard quietly, glancing at his sister and squeezing her hand softly. "But not at the risk of our continued health and wellbeing." _Of her continued health and wellbeing_, he whispered in his mind, and it was still heard from the flicker of Doyle's eyes and the small, exasperated twitch of Merry's mouth.

"We want to keep our distance until we see how safe it is, for _both_ of us," she stated firmly, glaring slightly at Harry, who remained unmoved, "if we're going to be back in the Court."

"Few would risk the Queen's anger," Doyle said; Harry lifted one shoulder and nodded in agreement with a slightly-wry smile, while Merry looked at Doyle, searching his fathomless eyes for something.

"Prince Cel would risk her anger, because she's never seriously punished him for anything he's ever done," she told him bluntly, and Harry let his eyes fall half-lidded as he controlled his temper. He had never liked their Cousin, pompous, spoiled sadist that he was, a mix of Voldemort and Draco Malfoy, with edges of other tyrants and cruelties Harry had known over his many rebirths. Cel was a cruel, sadistic coward, hungry for power and ruined by his mothers love.

Dumbledore once told a young boy that Love was the greatest weapon of all, and he was right. A mothers love can nurture, heal, ruin, and smother, all at once, and Andais's love for her son had ruined him and made him a petty, vile little worm who believed the world his piss bucket.

And she knew it, too.

"Cel is her only Heir, Doyle," Merry pointed out when the sidhe warrior's eyes tightened. "She won't kill him. He knows that."

"What the Queen does, or does not do, with her son and Heir, is not for me to question," Doyle demurred neutrally, eyes purposefully empty, face blank.

"Don't give the party line, Doyle," Merry told him quietly, coolly, her Seelie-eyes gleaming sharply. "Not to us. We _all_ know what Cel is."

"A powerful sidhe Prince who had the ear of the Queen, his Mother," Doyle replied, a tone of warning edging his voice.

"He has only one Hand of Power," Merry shot back, eyes glinting. "And his other abilities aren't that great."

"He is the Prince of Old Blood, and I, for one, would not want him using that ability on me on the dueling ground," Doyle pointed out, and Harry was amused to find the two leaning over his lap, staring into one another's eyes as they quietly argued. "He could bring every bleeding wound I have ever had in over a thousand years of battles on me at once." Harry nodded.

"An understandable fear," he noted, and Merry frowned at him.

"I didn't say it wasn't a frightening ability, Doyle," she declared firmly. "But there are others with more powerful magic, sidhe that can bring True Death with a touch. I've seen your flame eat over a Sidhe, seen it eat them alive. I've seen my brother's Chains rip a sidhe Lord to shreds before his opponent could take even one step forward or breathe enough to call his magic." Harry inclined his head at the compliment.

"And you killed the last to sidhe that challenged you to a duel, Princess Meredith," Doyle reminded.

"I cheated," she told him, and Harry shook his head and gave her a stern look even as Doyle replied before he could tell her otherwise.

"Nom, you did not," the Guard told her firmly. "You merely used tactics that they were not prepared for. It is the mark of a good soldier to use the weapons available to him or her." The two of them stared at each other, and Harry silently looked from one to the other, wondering, exactly, what had happened in the past twenty-four-hours that his sister felt so comfortable poking at the Darkness like a child with a stick pokes at a snake.

"Does anyone but the Queen know that I have the Hand of Flesh now?" She asked him abruptly; Doyle didn't twitch.

"Sholto knows, and his Slaugh. It will not be a secret by the time we land." Harry twitched slightly, a small frown curling his lips. His sister would need as many advantages she could get in order to survive the Court.

"It _may_ frighten any would-be challengers," she muttered to Harry; he huffed.

"Or attract those who can kill without touching you or getting within your range," he murmured back. "The Hand of Flesh requires skin contact to work, little sister."

"To be trapped forever as a shapeless ball of flesh, never to die, never to age, merely to continue," Doyle murmured quietly to both of them. "Oh yes, Princess, I think they will be afraid, even those with powers you described, Prince, would hesitate on outright challenging your sister now," he told Harry pointedly, nodding. "After Griffin… Left you, Princess," he continued, and Harry growled low in his throat at the mention of the bastard who had been betrothed to his sister, and who had cheated on her, betrayed her, and broken her heart. "Many became your enemy," Doyle continued diligently, "because they thought you powerless. They will all be remembering the insults they heaped upon you. They'll be wondering if you have come back holding a grudge." Harry hoped that those who worried over such things lost a century of sleep in fear.

"We're invoking Virgin Rights," Merry reminded. "That means that I have a clean slate, and so do they. If _we_," she sent Harry a sharp look, and Harry looked back with calm placidity, unflinching, "acknowledge an old vendetta, then we lose our Virgin status, and will be sucked right back into the middle of all this crap." She shook her head. "No, we'll leave them alone if they leave us alone."

"You are wise beyond your years, Princess," Doyle demurred.

"I'm thirty-three, Doyle," Merry told him tartly, annoyed. "That's not a child by human years." Harry bit back a sigh. Merry had always been a touch sensitive when her age was brought up. Being mortal, surrounded by immortals, would do that to a person. Doyle laughed, a small, dark chuckle, and Harry couldn't help but shiver, eyes half-lidded.

Now _that_ was a sound he'd never heard the Queen's Darkness utter, but he was _more_ than interested in hearing it again.

"I remember when Rome was merely a wide spot in the road, Princess," the warrior remarked, amused. "Thirty-three years is a child to me." Merry's eyes went hot and dark and interested, much like Harry's own had gone, and the two of them stared at Doyle with their gleaming, heavy eyes.

"I don't remember you treating me like a child last night," Merry murmured lowly, and Harry made a low, jealous sound, earning a soft chuckle from Merry as she smirked at him. Doyle looked between the two, not meeting their eyes, his expression closing off again, and Harry bit back a mournful sigh. They'd teased him to much.

"That was a mistake," Doyle told her, pulling back, and Merry shrugged, sitting back properly to stare out her window.

"If you say so," she told him blandly, heat gone from her voice, and Harry huffed, mildly annoyed that he'd gotten half-hard with no where to go, but he settled down quickly enough as the flight attendant once more came by. This time, she knelt, skirt tight across her thighs, and Harry watched with interest as she smiled up at Doyle, magazines spread out in a fan across one of her arms.

"Would you like something to read? She asked him, placing her free hand on his leg, sliding it up the inside of his thigh. Her hand was an inch from his groin when Doyle grabbed her wrist and gently, but firmly, moved her hand away, and Harry felt a mix of amusement, disbelief, and arousal.

"Madam, please," Doyle told her quietly; she knelt closer to him, eyes desperately earnest, shifting so the magazines were partially hiding what she was doing, one hand resting on either side of his knees. She leaned in so that her breasts pressed against his knees, and something about it all killed Harry's arousal and had his brow furrowing. He'd seen those acting like she was before, but he couldn't quite remember why…

"Please," she whispered to Doyle, looking up at him with something so near desperate adoration that Harry shifted slightly, vaguely uncomfortable. "Please, it's been so long since I was with one of you." And then Harry got it, he understood.

She was Elf-struck.

"How long has it been?" Merry asked her; the woman blinked at Merry as if she couldn't quite focus on anyone but Doyle, and Harry shifted towards her, letting the glamour on his eyes dissipate, until she her undivided, adoring attention. He gave her a soothing, gentle smile, cupping her face in his hand.

"How long has it been?" He repeated the question, and the woman made a sound in her throat that, had she _not_ been addicted to sidhe magic because of some _idiot_, he would have found _very_ flattering.

"Six weeks," she breathed, fingers trembling against Doyle's seat as she looked from Harry's eyes to the Guards face with such heart-aching desperation that Harry could only watch on sadly.

"Who was it?" Merry demanded; the woman made a soft, whimpering sound, looking close to tears as she stared up at Harry and Doyle pleadingly.

"I can keep a secret," she told them earnestly, urgently, "just don't deny me." She stared up at them, pretty gray eyes so meticulously outlined, shining with the need that came to those who were so carelessly used by cruel sidhe who didn't have the want or control to shield the human's mind from their magic. "Please, _please_," she begged, and Harry couldn't help but stroke her face sadly, watching as she nuzzled into it, pressing a hopeful kiss to his palm even as her eyes continued to dance from him to Doyle and back again. Merry leaned over Harry to place her mouth right at Doyle's ear, she murmured something to him, and Harry distracted the woman by smiling, lifting a veil of charm over himself for one, brief second, toned down to the nth degree but, to someone elf-struck, it was like they were staring at the sun for a few seconds, utterly riveted.

It was a small glamour, one even humans could pull off at times, but theirs tended to be complete unconscious. It was a Seelie trait, to make ones self appear more beautiful, charming, inspiring, whatever you were aiming for. It's what made some movie stars, salesmen, and televangelists so famous. For now, though, it would work as a neat distraction while his sister worked behind him.

When she could finally look away again, Harry sat back, pulling his hand gently from her face as Doyle asked for her name, number, and address. All but crying in gratitude, she gave it to him, before she gripped his hand in both of hers and pressed an almost painfully grateful kiss to it. She probably would have done more, if the male flight attendant hadn't come by and ushered her safely away.

"It's illegal to have sex with humans without protecting their minds," Merry said quietly as the three of them were left alone.

"Yes, it is," Doyle replied seriously.

"It would be interesting to know who her lover was," Merry idly said, sipping from Harry's long-forgotten bottle of water.

"Lovers, I think," Doyle commented; Harry made an agreeing sound in his throat.

"I wonder if she always flies the L.A. to St. Louis run?" She said slyly; Doyle looked at her, and Harry smiled faintly.

"She might know who'd been flying back and forth to Los Angeles often enough to set up a cult that's worshiping them," he murmured.

"One man doesn't constitute a cult," Merry huffed.

"You told me the woman mentioned a handful of others, some of them with ear implants, or perhaps even a sidhe themselves." Merry huffed again and leaned back into her chair, crossing one leg over the other at the knee, tugging at her slacks so that they laid right.

"That's still not a cult," she pointed out stubbornly. "It's a wizard with followers, a sidhe-worshiping coven at best."

"Or a cult at worst," Doyle persisted firmly. "We have no idea how many people were involved, Princess, and the man who could have answered the question is dead."

"Funny," Merry bit out coolly, and Harry sighed as he recognized her temper rising, "how the police didn't mind me leaving the state with a murder investigation hanging over my head."

"I think that our Aunt had something to do with that," Harry interrupted idly before an argument could begin or tensions could rise higher. "My coach seat to L.A. somehow became a First Class, all-expenses-paid seat. Auntie Dearest can be quite charming when she wants to be," he reminded his sister, with not a single note of sarcasm in his voice, tone, or body language at the pet name for the Queen of Air and Darkness.

"And when that fails," Merry agreed reluctantly, "she's scary as hell."

"That, too," Doyle agreed, and the three of us sat back again and enjoyed the rest of the flight in silence. The elf-struck woman never came back to us, only the male attendant (who was cute, Harry admitted, but married , and that, for any sidhe, was an immediate turn-off). She only returned as they were getting off the plane, to cling to Doyle's hand and stare at his face with terrified longing.

"You will call me, won't you?" She asked urgently; Doyle kissed her hand softly.

"Oh, yes, I will call, and you will answer every question I put to you honestly, won't you?" He murmured to her, and she could only nod, tears trailing down her face.

"Anything you want," She whispered, and Harry could only shake his head sadly as his sister was forced to pull Doyle away from the poor woman and drag the Queen's Darkness after her.

"I'd take a chaperone with me when you go to question her," she said to him, shaking her head.

"I had not intended on going alone," Doyle reassured her, looking into her face, which was much closer than usually prudent, as the two had been whispered. Harry decided to do the polite thing and moved to just out of earshot, checking over his bag as if to make sure he still had everything. He didn't hear what the two said, but, soon, they finished, and he rejoined them as they began walking towards the airport proper, leaving the noises of the engines behind and moving towards the sounds of people. As they walked, Harry remembered something, and felt a mischievous grin flicker across his face.

"So, Merry, I forgot to ask before," he started as they walked, and waited until his sister looked at him questioningly. "Did you put Bhatar's anatomy lessons to good use with Sholto, or did you forget them as soon as his pants dropped?" The startled, red flush that crossed her cheeks and him laughing, even as he dodged her attempts to smack him from around Doyle as she growled at him.

Gods and Goddesses, he had missed his sister!

**A/N: **Ugh, long chapter is long, but, hey! We're actually in the book now! Whoot!

This fic will only be for Book One of the Merry Gentry series. I will probably go through all the books, but only if it seems like a popular thing to do If no one has any interest in it, then… Well, honestly, I'll still probably do it, because I'M the one who has to like it, so, whatever (Shrugs)

Give me feedback, please and thank you!


	5. Four

**A/N:** I'm enjoying this, though the chapters seem, to me, to take forever (Huffs out a breath) Anyways, thank you everyone for the feedback!

Okay, multiple people have commented on no one apparently giving Harry any love, asking if he is ugly or not, so I'll go ahead and answer this.

No, he is not ugly; he is, however, distant and polite. The reasons only humans, thus far, have given him any interest really is because when the Fey are polite, they'll look at someone in a way that says "I would so do you" and humans take that to mean that the Fey in question is attracted to them, but Fey know that they're just being polite, and are probably not actually interested. Add in the fact that Harry prefers to sit back and be quiet, loves his sister to an almost unhealthy co-dependant type of way, and has power over metal, something that makes magic nigh impossible and can kill the Fey and, no matter how attractive, people tend to be cautious.

Also, I have to point out, that the only ACTUAL interest HARRY'S shown anyone in this fic thus far, besides his infatuation with Kurag, has been the interest he showed in Doyle when he and Merry were tag-teaming the Guard, otherwise he's been nothing more than polite.

So, it's not that he's ugly, but Merry is openly flirty by Fey standards, and Harry is distant and polite, giving off the impression that he's just not that into you.

Harry will have lots of fun with multiple people, just like his sister, so feel free to toss in names if you like, Merry's favorites will remain Merry's favorites most likely, but remember that Harry doesn't have such a human outlook as she does, so non-sidhe are in the running as well, just a reminder and if I like the suggestion I'll most likely find a place to add it in

**Kiss of Iron**

**Four**

As the three of them walked through their gate and into the crowded airport, Harry saw a tall figure come striding through the crowd, and winced slightly as Merry perked up, eyes widening with delight. Galen Greenhair was dressed in layers of green and white: pale green sweater, paler green pants, and an ankle-length white duster. His hair was the same green as his sweater, and fell in short curls just below his ear, except for one long braid that went to half-way down his calves.

Now, harry didn't really have anything against Galen. The man was a mere seventy older than Merry and Harry, which, in the sidhe world was practically growing up together. His father had been a pixie, giving Galen his green-tinted skin, green hair, and his spring-green eyes. He was the youngest of the Queen's Ravens, only now reaching his first century, seen to most of the guard as just reaching eighteen. None of that is why Harry didn't like him, however.

Harry didn't like him, because Merry loved him, and Galen was so utterly hopeless with politics and power plays, that, well…

He was his own death sentence, should Merry decide to marry him, and Harry wouldn't let that happen.

Still, watching Merry drop her carry-on at Doyle's feet in order to run forward, grinning, to leap into Galen's arms, being swept into a kiss, Harry sighed. She was happy, but she was smart. Harry would trust her.

"You do not seem pleased to see Galen, Prince Harkin," Doyle noted blandly; Harry paused, eying him from the corner of his eye for a minute.

That… Had been downright rude by most standards. It was considered polite not to outright comment on something emotional, especially when it came to the Royal Family. Considering this, Harry felt Doyle deserved the sharp look he got, watching the Guard incline his head in acceptance, before Harry turned his face forward again, watching as his sister and Galen put on a show for.

"…He is a bad match for her," Harry finally murmured, deciding that Doyle needed at least that much, as it seemed that Merry and the Guard had gotten at least a _little_ intimate, not that he could blame her. Doyle made no noise or movement to acknowledge that he agreed or disagreed, and Harry nodded shortly to the Guard before striding toward where his sister and her childhood love stood, still embraced, but Harry was focused on the man who stepped out of the crowd beyond them, and felt a small, warm smile curl his lips.

Barinthus had been a sea god, once, long, long ago, and he looked every inch the part, even now, dressed in a royal-blue trench coat over a black designer suit and one of those high, round-collar shirts that were meant to get rid of ties. It was silk, and also blue. Where Galen could pull of his green hair and still remain mortal-appearing, Barinthus could not boast the same. His hair was the color of the seas and oceans. The turquoise of the Mediterranean; the deeper, medium-blue of the Pacific. The grey-blue of an ocean before a storm, sliding into a blue so dark it was nearly black. All shades found in nature, in the sea, mixed into his hair, like the Gods had spun the very waters into being, just for him, constantly shifting in light and shadow, as if, if you watched long enough, you could see the animals that inhabited the water there.

His eyes were blue as well, a clear, calm blue, like frozen spring water, with slit pupils making a thin black slash, serpentine. He had a second lid, Harry knew, a membrane that allowed him to see underwater with the same ease Harry saw above ground. With his alabaster skin and standing at seven-feet-tall, Barinthus was a force unto his own, and feared in the Courts for his power. Harry knew him as a dear friend of his Father, and the man who taught the Royal Unseelie Twins to swim.

Harry noted that the other man was keeping his hands purposefully hidden in his pockets, and refrained from shaking his head. Barinthus had webbing between his fingers, which was completely retractable but, when out, allowed him to swim with ease and speeds only magic could match, and even then it couldn't most times. The Guard had been very sensitive about that webbing, ever since some foolish reporter back in the fifties had called him "the fish man" and, despite Harry and his sister's attempts to sooth that embarrassment away, Barinthus continued to be sensitive about his webbing.

This was a much more pleasing sight for the Prince.

"Barinthus!" He greeted, lifting his hands up to the once-god; Barinthus's mouth twitched, but he reached forward, his large hand curling around Harry's as the taller man bent from his prodigious height to press a civilized kiss to Harry's cheek, which Harry returned. Barinthus preferred to be civilized in public, and he had the power to keep anyone from trying to convince him otherwise. He had no desire for his personal side to become public, and Harry respected that about the man.

Though, watching Galen set Merry back on her feet so she, too, could greet their childhood tutor, Harry couldn't help but wistfully wish he could give the former sea god a kiss in greeting as personal as her and Galen's had been. After all, Barinthus had been the one to _teach_ him how to kiss, back when he was sixteen and he'd been determined to forget all about Kurag after the disastrous proposal to his sister.

The Guard had been hesitant, but, stubborn and hurt as Harry was, he'd grabbed Barinthus and pulled him into a kiss, rash and full of determination and, when the once-god had pulled away, Harry begged him not to leave him alone. Harry doubted the Guard loved him in an overly sexual way, but he had been very kind when he did not have to be, and Harry knew that, if the Queen's geas on the Guards was ever lifted, Harry would willingly offer himself to Barinthus without a single regret…

Not that it was, in any way, a fate worse than death, of course, quite the opposite, in fact.

The many cameras around them continued to take pictures and Harry smiled genially at Galen when the Guard stepped up.

"Galen," he greeted; the half-Pixie smiled back, eyes a little tight, but that smile warmed when Merry stepped back to Harry's side.

"It's good to have you both back among us, Meredith, Harkin," Barinthus told them seriously, and Harry turned his attention back up to the once-god.

"It's good to see you too, Barinthus," he and Merry told the sidhe warmly, before Merry continued, "I hope the Court is safe enough for us to make this more than an extended visit." As Harry watched that second eyelid flicker across the older sidhe's eyes, her felt himself stiffening slightly, and turned serious, speculative eyes up to the Guard. That quicksilver flicker of second-lid was a telling nervous tick Barinthus had, and Harry had learned early how to interpret it, and, feeling Merry stiffen ever-so-slightly next to him, knew she had spotted it as well.

"_That_ you will have to discuss with your Aunt," Barinthus told them, and Harry took a slow, deep breath in through his nose in order to keep his Chains from rattling ominously. Before he could refocus on the world around them, a reporter shoved a tiny mic in first Merry's face, then Harry's own.

"Who are you?" He demanded; that he had to ask meant that he'd only been on the job since the Twins had left, and Harry let the glamour on his eyes fall away abruptly, glaring coldly at the rude man, and found a petty pleasure in his quick flinch back. Galen moved forward to intervene even as Harry neatly reapplied the glamour under the faintest looks of amused-disapproval from Barinthus.

"Princess Meredith NicEssus, and Prince Harkin NocEssus, Children of Peace," a voice answered the rude reporter before Galen could, and Harry felt the familiar disgust and hatred coil like a heavy chain in his gut, for he recognized the man who that voice belonged to, even as said man pushed away from the far windows he'd been leaning again.

"Jenkins, how unpleasant to see you," Merry greeted mildly, and Harry just continued to stand silent, face the perfect genial mask he wore to Court, even as his Chains longed to tear through the disgusting man who had sold pictures of his fathers corpse before it was even in the ground, of his grief and his sister's grief, as if they were trinkets to be picked up and bandied about like free samples.

Barry Jenkins was a tall, thin man, though he looked particularly short next to Barinthus. He had a permanent five-o'clock shadow, so heavy that Merry had once asked him why he didn't just grow a beard. Harry remembered that the man told her his wife disliked facial hair and Merry, ever tactful, had told him she didn't believe anyone would marry him. Harry had had to pull her aside that day and personally remind her that they were _not_ human, no matter what everyone said, and that they had an image that they were responsible for keeping, else they'd answer to the Queen for it. She'd scoffed at him, told him Barry Jenkins was a worm and wouldn't find anything to post about them. Then, he had.

Harry remembered seeing the front page of the European magazines and newspapers Jenkins had sold their father's pictures too, seeing that beautiful, loving man hacked to pieces, of his sister's and his own tear-stained, shell-shocked faces, and he remembered hunting the man down only to find Merry had already gotten to him on that cold, lonely back country road, and Harry could do nothing but watch vindictively as the man screamed and cried while she plucked his darkest fears from his mind and played them out before his eyes. It was illegal, and Harry had lead her away soon after, but, for a few weeks, Jenkins had been kinder. Than he'd snapped back with a vengeance, worse than ever, but Harry still took pleasure in the memory of his terror and begging.

"I heard a rumor that you'd be coming back for a visit," Jenkins told them airily. "Are you staying the whole month until Halloween?" He asked; Harry continued to stand there and smile, and Merry stepped up to take the reins of the conversation.

"I can't believe that anyone would risk our Aunt's displeasure talking to you," Merry shot back, and Jenkins _smiled_. Harry superstitiously edged a little away from his sister, giving them both some room for maneuverability should the bitter man decide to attack. From the corner of his eye he could see Doyle nonchalantly sliding closer.

"You'd be surprised who talks to me, and about what," Jenkins told them, and Harry mentally narrowed his eyes, facial expression not even twitching at the vaguely-threatening, vaguely-personal statement.

"Welcome home, Meredith, Harkin," the man told them, before executing a small, yet strangely stylish bow. Harry returned the action with a polite inclination of his head, while Merry did nothing. Harry bit back a sigh as his sister decided to, instead, antagonize the unstable worm.

"You still smell like an ashtray, Jenkins," she told him primly, and Harry grit his teeth slightly. "Don't you know that smoking will shorten your life expectancy?" Harry wanted to sigh. When his sister disliked someone, she tended to get a little hotheaded about it, and forget something called, oh, what was it? Oh, yes.

Tact.

Jenkins face went hard and thin with anger, and he lowered his voice to whisper back to her.

"Still the little bitch of the west, heh, Merry." Harry shifted closer, and Jenkins turned his spiteful, hating eyes on the Prince. "And you're still her good little dog, aren't you, Harry?" He smiled, and it was a vile thing, but Harry continued on, lifting a hand to gently cup his sister's elbow as he smiled genially up at the disgusting man, soothing himself with imagining Jenkins intestines being torn out by his Chains. He didn't have to tell his sister she'd stepped too far. The fact he was touching her so impersonally was clue enough that they would be discussing this out of hearing range of anyone else.

"We have a restraining order against you, Mr. Jenkins," was all Harry said. "You're required to remain at least fifty feet away from us at all times. Please do so, before we're forced to call the police." Barinthus stepped forward, and Harry obligingly handed his sister off when the once-god offered his arm. Glancing up at Barinthus, Harry saw the frigid wrath beneath the coolness of his eyes, and Harry knew that the only reason Barinthus hadn't killed Jenkins for them, was because the Sidhe would see it as a weakness, just like Harry had to be careful with how he acted around Merry while at Court, because, if he showed himself to be _too_ protective, it was seen as her weakness, that she needed a protector, and his weakness, that she could be used against him. Of course, if he wasn't protective _enough_, it was believed that he didn't care for her enough, and Family was important to the sidhe to a degree. It was also seen as a weakness of character, that he could be negotiated with, perhaps with the removal of his "unwanted" sibling, in order to curry favor.

The Courts were a twisted thing, both of them, but at least the Unseelie Court was honest with its darkness. The Seelie Court preferred its illusions to honesty…

Speaking of Darkness, Harry noted that their Guard had disappeared, as he walked beside Barinthus and his sister, Galen bringing up the rear with Merry's carry-on in hand, smiling charmingly while he fielded reporters, spinning a tale about a Family Reunion, and the Twins being home for the coming holidays. As Harry and his sister continued on, Galen fell back so that they could outdistance the reporters.

Harry hesitantly approved.

"Why has the Queen suddenly forgiven us for running away from home?" Merry asked Barinthus curiously; Harry glanced up at him as they continued on in a leisurely walk.

"Why does one usually call home the prodigal child?" Barinthus replied calmly.

"No riddles, Barinthus, just tell me," Merry told him, and Harry shut his eyes briefly, praying for patience. Sometimes, he wondered if Merry had forgotten all of their Papa's political lessons…. And then he remembered that _he_ was the one with the Masters Degree in Politics, not Merry, and he had to sigh softly.

"She has told no one what she plans," Barinthus relented. "But she was most insistent that you come home as honored guests. She wants something from the both of you, Meredith, something only you can give her, or do for her, or for the Court." Harry felt a coil of dread in his stomach at that. Whatever their Aunt, who could hold a grudge for _centuries_, needed so badly from them that she was willing to overlook their "insubordination" was not something Harry was sure he would be able to survive.

"What could we possibly do that the rest of you can't?" Merry demanded, unnerved.

"If I knew, I would tell you," Barinthus replied simply; Harry watched as Merry leaned against the much taller man, running a hand down his arm, and stepped forward and to his other side to lean against him as well, as she called upon a small bit of magic, like wrapping a piece of air around them so that noise bounced off. It was a privacy spell, a little thing, which no one would question her using with all the reporters around like flies on a carcass.

"What of Cel?" She asked the once-god seriously, warily. "Does he mean to kill me?"

"The Queen has been most insistent, to _everyone_," Barinthus emphasized firmly, "that you are _both_ to be unmolested while at Court. She wants you back among us, Meredith, and seems willing to enforce her wish with violence."

"Even against her son?" Merry asked, disbelieving, and Harry couldn't blame her. Andais had ruined Cel, and knew it, but she could no more kill her son than Harry could kill Merry.

"I don't know," Barinthus settled on, diplomatically. "But something has changed between her and her son. She is not happy with him, and no one knows quite why. I wish I had more concrete information for you both, but even the biggest gossips at the Court are lying low on this one. Everyone's afraid to anger either the Queen _or_ the Prince." He touched Merry's shoulder, and brushed his wrist against Harry's arm. "We are almost certainly being spied upon," he murmured. "They will be suspicious if we keep up the Spell of Confusion for our words." Merry and Harry nodded as one, and Harry obligingly stepped a half-foot away while Merry withdrew her spell, flinging it into the air with barely a thought, to dissipate naturally on the winds. As the noise of the heavy crowd once more fell in on them, Harry marveled that they had not been touched, which would have broken Merry's spell, before blinking and realizing that, standing with a seven-foot-tall sea god would give them plenty of space. While some of the Fey welcomed the Faeriephiles and the groupies, Barinthus didn't, and a single glance from those eyes was enough to make almost anyone back up a step.

"We'll drive you from here to your grandmother's," Barinthus said, pitching his voice so it was just a little too cheerful to be normal, before lowering it again. "Though how you got the Queen to agree to you both visiting relatives before paying your respects to her, even if it had only been one at a time, I do not know."

"We invoked Virgin Rights, Barinthus," Harry reminded gently, smiling politely as he noticed a few cameras "subtly" snapping shots of them. He felt Merry wrap and arm around his waist and lay her head on his shoulder, and he made a point of turning his head to kiss her hair tenderly. _Eat it up, mortals_, he thought, amused, before refocusing on the Guard before them. "It is also why you will be taking us to our hotel to check in and change into appropriate attire before we will be heading to see our Auntie Dearest." Watching that second lid flicker across Barinthus's eyes at Harry's nickname for the Queen of Air and Darkness gave the thirty-three-year-old a thrill of amusement even as they reached the baggage carousel to wait for Merry's bag.

"No one has invoked Virgin Rights among the sidhe in centuries," Barinthus murmured, almost nostalgically, and Harry couldn't help but remember that this man was over six thousand years old, and that he had, miraculously, adapted to the modernized Twenty-First Century better then some of the sidhe Harry knew who were barely into their thousands at all, if that.

"It doesn't matter how long it's been, Barinthus, it's still our law," Merry pointed out, and the sea god smiled quietly down at first Merry, then Harry, with fondness in his blue eyes.

"You were always intelligent, even as children," he told them fondly. "But, you have both grown to be clever." Harry smiled at the compliment.

"And cautious," both he and Merry replied at once, smiling at one another briefly.

"Don't forget the caution, Barinthus," Harry teased lightly as Merry smiled and nodded.

"Without caution, all clever will do is get you killed," she finished the thought; Barinthus shook his head softly, his ankle-length, free-flowing hair shimmering until Harry swore he could see waves crashing and smell the salt.

"So cynical, so true," the man mused. "Have you truly missed us, either of you? Or do you enjoy being free of all this?" Harry chuckled softly.

"I took up politics in college, Barinthus," he reminded, amused, lacing his arm through the Guard's free elbow with an impish grin up at him, gaining an arched eyebrow in response and a flash of the heated depths of that gaze. "I _thrive_ in the Courts," Harry purred in response, and Barinthus's lips twitched.

"Some of the politics I could do without," Merry admitted freely, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "But," and here, the two of them moved as one, snuggling into the sea god and hugging his arm, Harry a bit less familial than Merry, but nothing less than discreet, as they were still in public and Barinthus was nothing if not properly aware of decorum at all times. "We have missed you," Merry continued, smiling. "And Galen… Or, well, _I've_ missed Galen," she corrected, rolling her eyes at Harry, who smiled, completely unrepentant, because she knew _exactly_ why both he and their Father hadn't liked the idea of her pairing with the knight. "And… Home isn't something you can pick and choose, Barinthus." She murmured softly, almost sadly, and Harry sighed in agreement.

"It is what it is," he murmured, and Merry nodded with a small, soft smile at him.

Barinthus leaned down, and the Twins curled forward, in front of him, until they were in a group hug, conveniently hiding their discussion under the guise of sentiment.

"I want you both home," Barinthus whispered, bowing his head forward, and allowing his hair to curtain them a little, and Harry breathed the scent of the sea deep into his lungs. "But I fear for you here." Merry met his eyes and smiled, while Harry closed his and leaned his head against the sea god's upper arm with a soft, low sigh.

"Us, too," Merry replied for the both of them, and the three, at some unspoken signal, pulled apart to stand side-by-side once more, with Harry still curling his arm through one of Barinthus, comfortably leaning close, while Merry stepped a little away to give him some distance. At that moment, Galen returned, bounding forward to stand between Merry and Barinthus, slinging one long, strong arm around her shoulder and another around Barinthus's waist, his hand resting at the small of Harry's back, which he allowed but didn't necessarily like.

"Just one big happy family," he announced, and Harry snorted faintly.

"Do not be flippant, Galen," Barinthus scolded the younger sidhe mildly.

"Wow," the green-haired man muttered. "The mood has plummeted. "What were you three talking about behind my back?" He asked; Merry just shook her head.

"Where's Doyle?" She asked; Galen's smile wilted a little around the edges.

"He's gone to report to the Queen," he told them, smile managing to flash back to its former brightness. "Your safety is now our concern." Harry knew his face gave nothing away at the knight's optimistic declaration, but he saw Merry's face tighten, and he clenched his hand slightly where it rested on Barinthus's forearm. "What's wrong?" Galen asked, bewildered and worried, and Merry glanced back at the carousel, using its surface to see what Harry had noticed just before Galen had joined them.

Jenkins was just outside the barrier for the carousel, staying his fifty feet away, but, for the Twins, that was fifty feet too close on a _good_ day.

"Not here, Galen," Merry told him firmly; Galen glanced at the reflection.

"He really hates you, doesn't he?" He remarked.

"Yes," Merry replied.

"I've never understood his animosity towards you," Barinthus said. "Even when you were children, he seemed to despise the two of you."

"It does seem personal, doesn't it?" Merry mused calmly, not giving anything away, and Harry just continued to lean against Barinthus, smiling genially at his reflection in the carousel.

"Do you know why it's personal for him?" Galen asked her, a strangely knowing edge to his voice that had Merry looking away and avoiding his eyes, and Harry let his eyes fall half-closed, watching the young knight in the carousel, before his eyes drifted up and met Barinthus's through the reflective surface and, for a second, those eyes went dark and deep and dangerous, before he blinked and they were back to normal.

"A worm will always loathe the bird who will one day devour it," Harry said mildly, and they left it at that, a fine tension running through the air around them. Merry's suitcase was the first one through, and Barinthus frowned when the Twins turned to leave.

"Where are Harkin's things?" He asked; Harry blinked and lifted the shoulder where his tattered old backpack rested.

"This is all I have to my name, and more than I've had the last three years at times, Barinthus," Harry told the man, bemused at the dark look that crossed his pretty blue eyes for a brief moment, before the once-god inclined his head in acceptance.

"Your chariot awaits, my lady, my lord," Galen declared, hefting Merry's suitcase with ease, and the Twins paused to stare at first him, and then Barinthus, warily. The word chariot had different meanings depending on who said them. If Galen was the only one, then it would probably actually _be_ a chariot, a publicity stunt, but Barinthus was not one for such things.

"Queen Andais sent her own personal car for you," the sea god informed them calmly. Harry and Merry met each others eyes, before staring from one Guard to the other.

"She sent the _Black Coach of the Wild Hunt_," Harry drew out slowly, eyes narrowing as he tried to imagine what games his Aunt was playing. "For _us_. Why." It was a statement more than a question, but Barinthus answered it.

"Until dark this evening," he said instead, "it is merely a car, a limousine. And that your Aunt offered it to you with me as your driver is a great honor that should not easily be dismissed." The warning note in his voice was unneeded, for Harry at least, because he knew that it was an honor.

It was just that their Aunt, who had tried to drown his sister like a purebred pup with the wrong markings, and would have done the same to him had she succeeded, was offering this honor to _them_.

What great thing could she want from them, that she was willing to do all this?

"It's too great and honor, Barinthus," Merry murmured after she'd stepped closer to him and lowered her voice, and Harry wished she wasn't so quick to let those she trusted in on her thoughts. "What's going on? We don't usually get the royal treatment from our relatives." The bitterness was well hidden in her voice, but Harry let his eyes drift away out of politeness, when he saw it in her eyes.

He knew, perhaps better than even she did, what a hurtful family can do to a person's self-esteem and self-worth. He had, after all, experienced it before, in its many flavors.

Barinthus did not look away from her eyes. He didn't flinch away or scold or deny. He looked on, implacable, calm, and with depths not even he could fathom in those blue eyes.

"I do not know, Meredith," he replied quietly, seriously, and after a moment, it was Galen who spoke next, breaking the tense spell of that eye contact.

"We'll talk in the car," he declared firmly, smiling and waving at the reporters, before neatly shepherding the three of them out the automatic doors. The limousine was waiting, a sleek black shark waiting patiently, a fitting description in Harry's mind, considering that Barinthus would be its driver for the night. Merry stopped on the sidewalk, and Harry stopped too, pulling Barinthus when the man would have continued, and catching both his and Galen's attention.

"What's wrong?" Galen asked, and Harry glanced at Merry calmly.

"Just wondering what might have crawled into the car while we were inside the airport," she told them; the two men glanced at one another, and then back to Merry, and Harry could feel Barinthus's arm muscles tense and relax uncertainly in his hold.

"The car was empty when we left it here." Harry sighed and shook his head.

"And how long were we in the airport, while it waited here, unwatched?" He asked mildly, and that gave Galen pause, while Barinthus frowned.

"I give my vow that, to my knowledge, the car is empty," he informed them, ever practical, and Harry shared Merry's smile, though both were far from happy.

"You always were cautious," Merry told him, stepping forward only until she drew even with Harry, who smiled at her.

"Let us say that I do not give my word on things that I cannot control," the sea god told her simply.

"Like our Aunt's whims," she shot back immediately; Barinthus gave her a bow, which made his long, beautiful hair swirl like a multicolored curtain, and Harry shivered as it caressed over his own exposed neck.

"Indeed," the man said, straightening and, once again, Harry shivered as that beautiful hair dragged against his neck, some of it remaining coiled over his shoulder and down his front, and, had it been anyone but Barinthus, Harry would have thought it accidental, but he knew Barinthus, and could only lean against the sea gods arm and look into his eyes with his own, glamour falling away so that they could glow properly with his interest and the affect the older mans actions had.

Many do not know it, but, sometimes, the older a sidhe gets, the more in tune with their bodies they are. In a way, Barinthus had just done the equivalent of pressing kisses up and down Harry's neck and, by leaving his hair over Harry's shoulder like he had, it was like and arm across someone's shoulder, only decidedly more possessive.

It was rather bold for Barinthus, and Merry eyed the two of them with an arched brown, before turning away to face Galen again, a flash of a smile crossing her face.

"In the car, children," Galen said through smiling, gritted teeth. There was a television news van in the distance, and Harry grimaced. If that van managed to pull in enough to block them, they'll have greater issues than paranoia and sexual tension.

"I'll ride up front with Barinthus," he told his sister quickly, as the sea god pulled the keys from his pocket and hit a button on the keychain, making the limo's trunk pop open with a hiss of escaping air, which sounded oddly like Harry's Chains. Galen took Merry's hand and suitcase and lead her over while Barinthus lead Harry to the back of the car, where he simply opened the door for Merry and waited for her to get in.

"The news van will be here soon, Meredith," he urged her calmly. "If we are to make a—how do they say?—A clean getaway, we must do so now." Merry steppe towards the door, but stopped, hesitating at the darkness inside, the inside being indistinguishable.

"By the Lord and Lady, Merry," Galen complained good-naturedly, slipping past her and sliding into the blackness of the car, holding out a hand for her once he had settled. "It's not going to bite," he teased.

"Promise?" Merry asked.

"Promise," Galen assured, smiling. Merry nodded and accepted his hand, letting him pull her in.

"Of course, I never said that _I_ wouldn't bite," was the last thing Harry heard him say, before the door closed and Barinthus was leading him to the front of the car. Harry didn't let the former god lead him t the passenger side, however, he merely pushed the man towards his own door with a heated smile and stalked around to let himself in.

"Minx," Barinthus called him once he was inside, and Harry laughed.

"Always," he replied, impishly, and Barinthus chuckled as he started the car.

**A/N:** Ta-Da! Next chapter! Whoot!

No one ever seems to see Barinthus as a sexual being, really. I mean, the man is gorgeous, intelligent, sensitive, and a fucking _god_, I would tap the hell outta that! And, come on, you all know that the sea gods were some horny motherfuckers in most mythologies!


	6. Five

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone for the support, suggestions, questions, and curiosity!

Send me more feedback, please, I appreciate it!

**Kiss of Iron**

**Five**

Despite their flirting, the first few minutes of the ride were in silence, the barrier between the front and back of the limo up and soundproofing both areas from the other. Harry watched out the window for that first few minutes, before his eyes were drawn to Barinthus, though that wasn't a surprise, really. He'd always been drawn to the man. Watching him in the shadows of the cars interior, his blue hair shifting like a living thing with every ray of fading light they passed and every gleam of passing headlights as dark approached, the former god looked truly ethereal to Harry, whose breath caught in his throat when, at a stop light, those fathomless blue eyes turned and locked onto him, predatory, like a shark in the water, but hotter than any natural spring in the world, slit black pupils expanded from either the dim lighting or lust, and Harry knew which one _he_ was hoping for.

"Stop that," Barinthus told him, voice deep and soft; Harry shivered, letting the glamour on his eyes slip away, so that they glowed in the darkness of the car.

"Stop what?" He asked, voice just as soft and deep, edging into hoarseness as his eyes slid half-lidded, his body heating as Barinthus's own eyes gleamed unnaturally bright, the smell of salt drifting through the tense air between them.

"Looking at me like that," Barinthus told him, turning those faintly glowing eyes back to the road as the light turned green.

"You'll have to be more specific, Barinthus," Harry told him huskily. "I look at you in a lot of ways." The sea god hummed lowly, almost a growl, and Harry watched those large hands of his tighten and relax on the steering wheel, even as he turned the limo onto the long road towards the edge of the city. Gran's Bed-and-Breakfast was just outside city limits, in an area that made it look like you were deep in the country, according to the pictures and reports Harry had glanced through online, of course.

"Like you'd rather be facedown in my lap than sitting over there," Barinthus growled as he turned onto an empty expanse of road, and Harry moaned, shuddering, his skin tingling.

"Oh, _that_ look," he teased with a smirk, shifting forward and pulling one of his knees onto the plush leather seat, his back to the door, conveniently spreading his thighs wide and exposing the obvious bulge in his pants, shivering again even as his smirk widened when Barinthus let out a hiss of air and tightened his hands on the steering wheel to the point that the metal whined softly, before the former god got a hold of himself and breathed in slowly, muscles going as loose as they could. Harry narrowed his eyes.

He didn't _want_ the other man controlled. He wanted to see him wild, hungry, as untamed as his seas. He wanted Barinthus on him, _yesterday_, and he wasn't about to let the god try and distance himself. With a low, slightly-shaky sigh, Harry pressed a hand to his crouch, moaning as he put pressure on his straining erecting, and watched through mostly-closed eyes as the sidhe before him struggled with himself, teeth gritted so hard that the Prince gave a brief thought to the poor warriors teeth, before even that thought was pushed from his mind, his glamours and illusions sliding away like water on a windshield as his skin began to glow, his pale brown skin glowing like sundown, a soft, golden glow reminding Harry oddly of an Autumn moon, before the only thing he could focus on was the pleasure he was feeling and the heat in his blood as he tried to get the god to loose control.

"I always look at you like that," Harry told the god hoarsely, a soft gasp escaping him as he stroked himself through his jeans, head falling back to thump into the window as his back arched slightly, a shaky moan escaping him. "I wonder what you'd taste like. If you'd taste like your sea, or if your taste like fresh rain on the back of my tongue when I swallow you down." Harry shuddered, a whine choked off in his throat as he arched higher, gasping as a pothole had him jerking his hand almost harshly against his dick, eyes shutting tightly as his mouth fell open on a gasp, body heating further.

Barinthus cursed and, suddenly, the car was pulled off to the side of that long, empty road, and Harry barely had time to open his glowing eyes again when one of the former gods large hand grabbed the ankle that was on the seat and yanked Harry harshly across the leather to him, making Harry cry out as his shirt was rucked up from the friction and his glowing, lightly-sweaty skin was dragged across that cool, smooth leather. The next moment, he found himself effectively pinned, both of his hands held almost too-tight by the wrist up over his head, and Barinthus's his forcing the Prince's legs wide as the former god leaned over him with brightly gleaming skin, hair shifting like a blue aurora as those slit-pupil'd eyes glowed hungrily over him. Harry cried out as Barinthus forcefully rocked their groins together, the gods heavy erection firm and large beneath his slacks.

"You little tease," the god growled darkly, leaning down and biting onto Harry's neck, making the Prince cry out and arched, writhing against the former god who growled even as he marked Harry's willingly offered neck, his pale brown skin turning dark and purple-toned with each sharp, hungry bite. Harry moaned as those bites drifted further up his neck, until Barinthus abandoned his neck all together and claimed his mouth, swamping Harry's senses as the Prince could only gasp. The warrior took advantage with vicious enthusiasm, tongue plunging into Harry's mouth to circle and twist, nimble as an eel, stroking over Harry's tongue and brushing the top of his mouth, nearly reaching clear to the younger mans throat as Barinthus claimed every inch of that mouth.

Harry was the one to break the kiss, yanking his head to the side in order to gasp for breath just before he felt like he'd pass out, and Barinthus growled deeply in his chest, his alabaster skin glowing like a star, but there were soft, shimmery flickers of blue that occasionally glided through that pure shine, like waves, even as he melded his shine to Harry's making the Prince cry out again even as Barinthus rolled his hips powerfully, grinding his crotch into Harry's with ruthless force, making a kaleidoscope go off in the younger mans head as he writhed on the seat, hands still pinned above his head.

"Barinthus!" He managed to gasp out, and Barinthus chuckled darkly, a purely masculine sound even as he leaned down to once more sink his teeth into Harry's neck, hard enough to hurt, but, in his current state, the small pains just upped the level of his pleasure and Harry could only moan and gasp.

"Again," the former god all but snarled into Harry's ear, thrusting harshly forward to grind against the smaller man, back arched in what should have been an uncomfortable way as Barinthus hunched his seven-foot body over Harry's five-foot-three. "Say my name again, little minx."

"Barinthus," Harry obliged with a choked moan, arching his body and kicking his feet when they slipped on the leather, accidentally kicking the steering wheel and making the horn give a short, sharp honk, startling Harry and clearing his head a little bit as Barinthus snarled and used his free hand to grab onto the leg between him and the back of the seat, forcing it up so that Harry's knee was nearly to his chest, the burn of the muscles making the Prince gasp.

"Barinthus!" Harry managed, trying to get the man to focus even as his eyes rolled back and his body writhed when the god slowly, heavily ground into him.

"Fuck," Barinthus hissed, and Harry shook his head, trying desperately to think. Something was wrong, but his brain was foggy, his body aglow with the pleasure he was in, his breath coming in pants.

"Something, something's n-not ri-ight!" Harry gasped, keening at the end as Barinthus bit deeply onto his neck, worrying at the skin like a determined piranha.

"You're right," Barinthus growled, releasing the skin and moving to suck a dark hickey into the skin right behind Harry's ear, making him cry out and writhe again. "You're still able to speak."

"C-can't think!" Harry panted, all but sobbing as Barinthus continued to mark his neck, making Harry's blood pump hotter.

"Good," the man snarled, thrusting harshly against him and rearing up, glowing brightly, eyes such a dark blue they were nearly black, teeth bared in a dark smile that Had Harry moaning and shaking his head again, gasping for breath and mewling as the god continued to grind, unrelenting as waves crashing against a cliff.

"Not... Right!" Harry gasped, arching into the body above him desperately, feeling his stomach tighten more and more, a heat building at the base of his spine as he writhed, at the former gods mercy even as Barinthus snarled and struggled, something like realization in his eyes. His teeth gritted as he forced himself to stop grinding into Harry, who keened desperately as the God twitched with the need to continue.

"Spell," Barinthus ground out through tightly gritted teeth, and Harry choked on a moan as his mind managed to focus, barely, on something besides that burning pleasure in his groin.

"We've got t-to stop," he managed, whining as his body twitched, his skin glowing brightly, and Barinthus groaned and closed his eyes, hips making an aborted thrust as he just barely kept from grinding into Harry again.

"Stop. Moving," he hissed, and Harry moaned even as he nodded jerkily, hands curling into fists as he shuddered, the bare skin of his back sticking uncomfortably to the leather, pulling and tugging every time he moved, making it harder to concentrate. Slowly, as the two of them remained as still as possible, shivering and slowly catching their breath, the spell seemed to dissipate, and Harry swallowed heavily, mouth dry, as Barinthus slowly, carefully, released his wrists and pulled back, closing his eyes as he fought for his millennia's-strong control, which was actually incredibly flattering, if only his and Harry's own desire hadn't been ignited by a spell.

"_Harry?"_ Merry's voice called, a little hoarsely, over the intercom between the front and back of the car. _"Barinthus?"_ Harry took a shuddering breath as Barinthus leaned over and flicked the intercom on.

"Here," he growled out, voice still hoarse.

"_You alright up there?" _She asked carefully, and Harry could pick up the sound of rustling clothes.

"We are now," Barinthus responded, slightly clipped and strained as Harry carefully, slowly, shifted up into a proper sitting position, scooting back into his seat and giving the former god some room, the same space he himself needed as he closed his eyes and breathed as deeply and slowly as he could, skin still glowing rather brightly even as Barinthus's managed to slowly taper off.

"_Someone wrapped a lust spell around the Queen's Ring, which was left here for me,"_ She told them, and Barinthus let out a slow, deep breath, and Harry felt a flash of jealousy that it wasn't even shaky, while Harry was still having trouble controlling his shudders and his skin still glowed.

"That would explain some things," the former god told her calmly, though Harry was mollified when he heard that tenseness still in the gods voice, and saw that he still had a _very_ prominent bulge. The sight of it and the gods control had Harry shutting his eyes as he bit his tongue to stop from moaning. Without looking, he flapped a hand at the door, looking for the window controls, only for the window to be lowered.

"Thank you," he managed, eyes still closed as he leaned his head out the window to breath in the cool October air, shivering as it chilled his sweaty skin.

"That was not me," Barinthus told him after a few seconds, and Harry opened his eyes to slowly turn and look at the god, who was staring at him again, looking slightly uncomfortable and wary. The idea that his old friend was wary of him, as if Harry was going to jump him in a second, made Harry feel both insulted and amused, before he realized what the god was wary of, when the seat behind him _rippled_ and, suddenly, a soft, black handkerchief was resting beside Harry's hand, and a bottle of water was sliding from between the seats.

"Lords and Ladies," the Prince breathed in realization, staring around himself at the car.

"…_Harry?"_ Merry called carefully. _"Please tell me the car is being nice to you, too."_ Carefully, Harry picked up both the 'kercheif and the water, swallowing heavily, glow dimming away rapidly as adrenaline pumped through his veins.

"It is," the Prince managed, before clearing his throat and awkwardly patting the leather seat beside him. "I, ah, appreciate the water and handkerchief," he told the car, avoiding saying thank you outright, incase it took it as an insult, as some of the older Fey did. The car didn't do anything for a second but, suddenly, the A/C turned on with a quiet purring sound and the window rolled back up. Harry twitched and stared at first the dashboard, where soft, cool air was blowing at him, chilling his skin and making goosebumps rise, before the Prince slowly turned his wide eyes to Barinthus, and the two of them stared for several seconds at one another, before the god cleared his throat and spoke into the intercom.

"We'll be at your Grandmother's house in about five minutes," he told them, shifting his long legs beck into proper position and carefully pulling the limousine away from the curb.

"_Thank you, Barinthus,"_ Merry replied, and Barinthus turned off the intercom, clenching his hands tightly on the steering wheel, looking worried and tense.

"The Queen's ring hasn't left her hand in centuries," he murmured after a minute or so of silence. "That she's given it to your sister is yet another sign of her favor and protection."

"And another bull's-eye on Merry's back," Harry told him quietly, staring out the windshield. "We'll need to be extra careful now, because someone was willing to wrap a spell around Aunties 'gift' and, had Merry and Galen, or you and I, consummated that spell…" The former god nodded grimly as he turned down a drive towards Gran's Bed-and-Breakfast.

"We would have been executed," he murmured firmly; Harry nodded. "That's why you don't think the Queen ordered it." Harry shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest, idly twisting the water bottle in his hand.

"If Auntie Dearest wanted us dead, she'd drag us before the Court and have us publically executed," Harry told him calmly, shaking his head. "If she wanted us to sleep with some of her Ravens, she'd have us put on a show, for her or the Court, whichever she wanted. There'd be no need for the spell, no need for the subterfuge, she is the Queen and could simply order it, and we would obey or be sent to Ezekiel's torture chambers. No, this was an assassination attempt, on Merry and me, by someone else, probably one of the Prince's cronies," he mused quietly, eyes half-lidded as he thought over the various angles and plans that could have been the stepping stone to his enemies plan.

"It might even had been an attempt on your life, Barinthus. You are a heavy power in the Courts, not even the Queen wants to anger you, so this could have also been a way to get you out of the way…" Barinthus inclined his head in agreement as the limousine pulled to a stop and he turned off the car.

"I shall keep both my eyes and ears out," the former god told him quietly, and Harry nodded, reaching for the door handle, when the sidhe warrior reached out and caught his hand. Harry paused, staring up into Barinthus's blue, blue eyes, so serious but kind that Harry felt his breath catch. Barinthus's eyes drifted from his own, to stare at the markings covering Harry's neck, no doubt dark and obvious in the dying daylight, and Harry's breath stuttered in his chest as those blue eyes grew dark and hungry as they dragged back up to meet his, glowing inhumanly out of his serene, beautiful face.

The god said nothing, he merely lifted Harry's captured hand to his mouth and placed a chaste kiss against his knuckles, before releasing said hand and leaving the car. Harry had to sit there for a second, catching his breath and re-balancing himself, before, with a slow, deep breath, he straightened his shoulders, reapplied his glamours and illusions, and opened his car door.

He was a Prince of the Unseelie Court, and his personal life was _not_ entertainment for the public.

**A/N:** Ta-da! How was it? did you like it? This was surprisingly hard to write, I had to keep running back up to the top and changing things (Grimaces) I dunno how I like it, please tell me what you think? Yes it's shorter than the last few chapters, but, well, oh well?

Character development? Was everyone in character? I dunno, I'm horrible at dialogue, ugh, feedback, please and thank you!

(Nervous wave)


	7. Six

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone for the support, suggestions, questions, and curiosity!

Send me more feedback, please, I appreciate it!

**Kiss of Iron**

**Six**

Gran had taken the rooms at the very top of the house for herself, and that was where Harry and Merry were lead, with firm, loving hugs and soft scolding's. The parlor they were sitting in was done in shades of white, cream, pink, and rose, sitting on a stiff-backed love seat that, frankly, had more lace-edged pillows than either twin knew what to do with, and the two of them had made careful piles of the little things off to the side so that the three of them had enough room, Gran sitting perched neatly between them as they drank tea from a flowered tea set. Harry's second cup of tea, as well as Merry's, complete with dainty saucer, was floating towards their waiting hands. Harry had learned from their tea parties as children with their Gran, that the trick to catching something levitating towards you was to not move. Don't grab at it, don't try to catch it, just sit still and wait for it to touch your hand. If the person doing the levitating was good, than you would never spill it, and it was much better to show patience than impatience.

Harry himself could do some of the Brownie magic that their Gran did, but at a much lesser extent than her. He could levitate a tea cup, but not the whole set like she could, and he could make a room clear of dust with a wave of his hand, but he couldn't keep it clear of dust for months if he wanted. The only Brownie Magic he truly excelled in was keeping clothes clean and stain-free.

Accepting the hovering teacup with a soft smile to his Gran, he barely twitched when Merry jumped, startled from her brooding thoughts when Gran asked her if she was alright.

"Sorry, Gran," Merry apologized earnestly, with a tense, sheepish smile. "I didn't hear you." Harry thought that Gran would have snorted if it wasn't unbecoming of a lady.

"Dearie, your nerves are wound so tight, they're likely to snap," the half-Brownie scolded mildly, sipping her own cup of tea, her tiny mouth soft and not making a single slurping noise, as it was unladylike.

"I can't help it," Merry told her honestly.

"I do na think that the Queen would drag the two of you back just to watch your enemies kill you," Gran pointed out, sipping her tea again.

"If Auntie Dearest was ruled by logic and not her vices," Harry remarked mildly, nimbly plucking a sugar cube from the floating sugar bowl to settle into his cup without even a ripple, "than we'd both agree. However, we all know her too well for that. If it entertains her current mood, than she will allow it to come to pass." Merry nodded to him firmly, and Gran sighed. She was tinier than even Merry was, inches under five feet. When he was younger, Harry used to think she was the tallest, most gloriously perfect woman in his life. She was more refined, patient, and polite than their own mother, who was her daughter, but she was kind and loving as well, and never opposed to a cuddle after their etiquette lessons were over. Her long, wavy brown hair curtained her delicate body like a silken wave, but it didn't hide her face. Her skin was brown, like a nut, darker than Harry's own and, as a child, Harry had been rather smug that he'd been brown like his beautiful Gran was, and Merry had shoved mud down the back of his shirt when she'd gotten irritated with him boasting about it.

Gran's skin was somewhat wrinkled, but it wasn't from age. Her eyes were large and brown like her hair, with thick, lovely lashes that Merry had inherited. She had no nose over her tiny mouth, only the two holes there, like she was meant to be a brown skull, but, to Harry, that had always made her more beautiful, proof of her Otherness, and he had loved to stroke a hand down her soft brown cheek and smile up at her after they'd left the Court, because, despite everything, he found his Gran's Brownie Attributes more beautiful than many of the narrow-minded Court Ladies who would mock and sneer at him and his sister, and had once hoped his own nose would go away so he could match hers, but it had never happened. Gran had been born without her nose. Her mother, his great-grand mother, had thought she was beautiful, and her father, his great-grandfather, had told her that, of course she was beautiful, because she looked just like her mother, who he loved, and Harry had longed to look like her, to be beautiful, because it hurt to be at either of the Courts and not be _enough_ for anyone as a child, and an adult.

Harry took another sip of his tea, because letting it cool was rude, but drinking too fast was as well, and he and Merry had been taught the rules of etiquette for tea that were a hundred or so years out of date, and he tuned back into the here and now.

"I wish I knew what to tell you about the Queen, children, but I don't," Gran sighed gently, shaking her head. "The best I can do is feed you. Have some pasties, dears," she urged, the plate of the shortbread pies floating close. "I know they're a little heavy for tea time, but they're your favorites." Harry knew his face had lit up.

"Mutton filling?" he and Merry asked together, already reaching forward; Gran smiled knowingly.

"With turnips and potatoes," she answered with a fond nod, "just the way you like it." Harry grinned, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to one soft, brown cheek.

"They'll have food at the banquet," Merry said, smiling even as she plucked one of the pasties up, Harry already biting into his with a low, pleased hum. He had missed his Gran's cooking while he'd been gone.

"But will you want to eat it?" Gran shot back easily, and Merry smiled. Two small plates floated under the pasties Harry and his twin held, to catch crumbs.

"What do you think of the ring?" Merry asked Gran as Harry neatly finished his pasty with another low hum of pleasure, eying the rest of them sitting on the little table.

"Nothing," Gran replied, even as she patted Harry's leg in silent permission for him to have another pasty, making Harry grin as he happily reached forward and did just that.

"What do you mean, nothing?" Merry demanded, frowning as she nibbled her own pasty, trying not to drop too many crumbs.

"I mean, Dearie, that I don't have enough information to even hazard a guess," Gran replied calmly, sipping her tea as Harry finished his second pasty, much faster than he probably should have, but he sat back and sipped his tea instead of reaching for another one, content as he watched his little crumb plate float back to the table.

"Was it Cel that tried to kill me and Galen, and Harry and Barinthus?" Merry asked, frustrated and nervous, and Harry bit back a sigh as he sipped tea. "I think I'm most angry about the fact that whoever put the spell in the car was willing to sacrifice Galen and Barinthus to get to us," she admitted, frowning heavily as she set the hardly-touched pasty on the crumb plate, obviously no longer hungry.

"We might not have been the targets, you know," Harry pointed out, sipping his almost-finsihed tea calmly. "Barinthus and I discussed it after we'd managed to get ourselves under control. Auntie Dearest wouldn't have done it, because she would want to make us a spectacle, and if she just wanted us to copulate with her Guards, she would have had us put on a show. Whether it was Cel or someo other enemy, they might have been trying to get Barinthus killed due to his power in the Courts, and perhaps Galen angered the wrong person. He has the lack of political knowledge that would mean any insults done to a Lord unforgivable, after all," Harry pointed out, mind scouring over possibilities as he absently floated his own teacup back to the table, where Gran obligingly had the tea kettle float closer and pour him another cup.

"Then again, the spell could have just been meant for _one_ of us," he continued thoughtfully as he absently levitated his cup back to his hand, reaching forward to pluck a sugar cube from the bowl that floated closer. "Maybe someone who wanted revenge for one of the duels we one, or maybe as a preventative measure of some kind. It could have been an enemy of Papa's that has finally gained enough power, or favor, to feel safe enough to lash out. It could be someone who loathes us for our mixed heritage or mortality, someone terrified of your new Hand of Power, or maybe even someone who wants to move close to the throne." He shook his head.

"There are too many variables, too little information, to just outright declare our enemy Cel, though he _is_ the most likely instigator," Harry admitted with a nod, carefully stirring his tea with a tiny spoon. "We just can't afford to not look at every avenue of investigation, merry, or else we'll miss the assassin at our back because we're too busy watching the Politian in front of us." Gran reached out, gripping one of Merry's hands in her own and curling her other hand over Harry's knee comfortingly. He noted that she'd painted her nails a deep, rich burgundy that was almost the same color as her skin.

"I don't know High Magic, Merry, Harry," she told the, shaking her head, eyes dark with worry for them. "My magic is more innate ability. But, if the assassin meant it as a death sentence, why the green cord?" She asked, talking about the spell that had been tied to Merry's new ring. Three strings: red for lust, orange for reckless love, and then, out of place, green, for finding a monogamous partner.

"Green," Gran continued. "The color of faithfulness, of a fruitful family life. Why add that?" Harry hummed, narrowing his eyes in thought.

"The only thing I can come up with is that they had the spell for some other purpose and used it for this as the last moment," Merry told them, and Harry inclined his head reluctantly, trying to find other ideas it could be used for. "Because what other reason could the spell have been there for?"

"I do na know, Dearie. I wish I did," Gran told her quietly, and Merry lifted her hand to stare at the ring resting innocently upon it. Something was niggling at the back of Harry's head, and he narrowed his eyes at the ring.

"Whoever put the spell in the car, used that ring to power it," he said slowly, eyes narrowing further as his Chains hissed restlessly out of sight and sense. "They knew that the ring would be in the car, and they knew that they'd have time enough to get in, place the ring and spell, and get out, without being seen or sensed by our Guards. They might have been the one ordered to put the ring there in the first place, but, more than likely, they volunteered or were ordered by the actual person, or maybe they followed the original holder." He shook his head with a low sigh.

"Who would the Queen trust with this?" Merry asked, her Seelie eyes gleaming brightly with consideration.

"The list is small for those that she trusts," Gran pointed out, shaking her head. "But the list is long for those that she knows are too afraid to go against her wishes. She could have given her ring and the note to anyone, and trusted that they would do as she asked with it. It would ne'r occur to her that her Guard would disobey her." She gave Merry's captured hand a squeeze, and patted Harry's knee gently. "You're obviously not going to eat these good pasties, Merry. I'm going to send them downstairs. My guests will certainly appreciate them." Harry twitched, and couldn't help but pout even as Gran chuckled at him, and levitated Merry's barely-touched pasty to him, which he accepted with a sheepish smile.

"I'm sorry, Gran," Merry apologized as Harry lifted the treat to nibble on happily. "I just can't eat when I'm nervous. I don't know how _Harry_ can eat when he should be nervous, either," she remarked, watching him pointedly chew a bite of the lukewarm pasty. Harry swallowed before he spoke.

"I munch when I'm nervous," he replied simply, and Gran shook her head with a fond smile.

"Leave him be, Merry," she told the younger woman with a chuckle. "I'm not offended, just practical." She gestured, and the nearest door opened to show a small hallway and the stairs beyond. The plates of food began trooping out the door.

"What purpose would it serve to have Galen and me, or Harry and Barinthus, executed?" Merry asked again, sitting back with an unhappy look.

"I already told you several purposes," Harry complained, and Merry shot him a frustrated look.

"I'm asking _Gran_," she told him, huffing, and Harry bit his tongue when Gran tightened her hand on his leg pointedly. Arguing over tea was rude. Mulishly, Harry took a sip of his tea and ate another bite of pasty, sulking.

"You might rather ask what purpose would it serve if the _Queen's_ ring were found wrapped around a love spell designed for you," she offered mildly, and Harry caught the small, abortive head-duck his sister made, showing she understood that she'd stepped from the realm of polite during tea, and was sorry.

"But it wasn't designed for Merry," Harry said, offering an olive branch. "Nor was it designed for myself, Barinthus, or even Galen. It was a generalized love spell, powered by the Queen's magic… Ah," he murmured, realization crossing his face.

"This is the Queen's Ring," Gran pointed out calmly, taking Merry's hand and tracing the ring with a finger. "You are the Queen's Blood. But for an accident of birth order, Essus might have been King. You would already be King, Harry, and Andais would not be Queen. It would be your cousin Cel who was third in line to the Throne, not you."

"An attempt to hold the hierarchy as it is, or usurp it," Harry murmured to himself, thoughtfully.

"Father never approved of how Andais ran the Court," Merry commented quietly.

"I know that there are those who urged him to kill his sister and take the throne," Gran remarked mildly, simply, and Harry twitched, discomfited with the idea of someone wanting him to kill his sister or his sister to kill him, just to change something in the Court.

"I didn't think that was commonly known," Merry said, surprised, and Harry huffed.

"Everyone wants to further their own plans, Merry, and, in Court, that usually means killing someone off, or getting someone else to kill someone else," he remarked, and took a sip of his tea.

"Why do you think he was killed?" Gran asked quietly, and Harry flinched, nearly sloshing his tea, and leaned forward to set both it and the crumb-plate down, a fourth of pasty still on it. He was no longer hungry. "Someone got nervous that Essus might take that advice and start a civil war." The hand on his knee took hold of his hand, and Harry had to close his eyes and hold tight to it, his grief and rage dragged upward, clenching like a fist in his throat as he held his Chains in check by the skin of his teeth.

"Do you know who ordered him killed?" Merry demanded, desperately; Harry opened his eyes in time to see Gran shake her head.

"If I did, child, I would have told you by now," she told them soothingly. "I was not part of either Court's machinations. I was tolerated. Nothing much more.

"Papa more than tolerated you," Harry told her, softly scolding, as he used his thumb to rub her knuckles gently.

"Ah, that he did," Gran agreed with a soft smile. "He gave me the great gift of being allowed to watch the two of you grow, from child to adult. I will _always _be grateful for that." Merry smiled, and Harry couldn't help but do the same, leaning forward to kiss Gran's cheek affectionately.

"So will we," he told her softly, setting his head against her shoulder briefly, closing his eyes and breathing in her smell of clean linens and cookie dough. Gran briefly leaned her head against his, before she sat up and an obligingly moved back as the half-Brownie reclaimed her hands, clasping them in her lap, a sure sign that she was uncomfortable.

"If your mother could only have seen his goodness," she murmured wistfully, before shaking her head with a sigh, "but she was blinded by the fact that he was Unseelie. I knew it would come to grief allowing herself to be part of a peace treaty. King Taranis used Besaba as chattel. It wasn't right." Harry refrained from saying anything. He had no love for Besaba, no hatred either. Just a disinterested dislike. She was no mother of his, but he wouldn't say that, for she was Gran's daughter, and their Gran loved her all the same, bitterness and jealousy and all.

"Mother wanted to wed a Prince of the Seelie," Merry pointed out, voice mild, carefully hiding her dislike as well. "None of them would touch her, because no matter how tall and beautiful she was, they were afraid to take to their beds. Afraid they'd mingle their so pure blood with hers. They wouldn't sully themselves with her, not after her twin sister, Eluned, got pregnant after just one night with Artagan, trapping him in a marriage." Gran nodded.

"Your mother always thought that Eluned had ruined her chances for a Seelie marriage."

"She did," Merry continued bluntly, and Harry focused on levitating his lukewarm tea back to him, not liking just leaving it to waste, and his stomach back under his control now that discussion was away from their father's death. "Especially after their daughter was born and she…" Merry looked into Gran's face. "Looked like you," she finished softly, reaching out to Gran as she said it, and Harry sipped his tea as Gran took her hand with a soft, sad smile.

"I know what the Seelie think of my looks, child," she told her wryly. "I know what my granddaughter thinks of the family likeness."

"Mother went with our Father because King Taranis promised her a Royal lover when she returned," Merry told her, carefully shifting the topic. "Three years among the unclean, unholy, Unseelie Court, and she could come back and claim a Seelie lover. I don't think she expected to get pregnant within that first year."

"Which made a temporary arrangement permanent," Gran said, and both Twins nodded.

"That's why we're Besaba's Bane at the Seelie Court," Harry remarked, voice mild as he held his teacup delicately. "Our birth tied her to the Unseelie Court. She's always resented us for that, and she made that _perfectly_ clear as children," Harry remarked, still mild as he took a sip of his tea. Gran shook her head.

"You mother is my daughter and I love her, but she is very… Confused at times, about who she loves and why." Harry refrained from commenting, and shared a look with Merry. Neither of them believed Besaba loved anyone but herself and her own ambition, but neither of the Twins was tactless enough to say anything about it in front of their grandmother. Harry pointedly flicked his eyes to the nearby clock, and Merry tilted her head slightly, catching his hint.

"We need to check into our hotel and get dressed for the festivities," Merry told Gran softly; Gran touched her arm and glanced at Harry, who finished his cup of tea and leaned forward to set it and its saucer on the table.

"You should be staying here," she told them sadly; Harry shook his head, kissing her cheek affectionately.

"You know why we can't," he reminded her gently

"I've put Wards on my house and grounds," she told them.

"Wards that can withstand the Queen of Air and Darkness?" Merry asked gently.

"Or whoever else may try to kill us?" Harry added, and sighed as Gran's small mouth went tight with her unhappiness. "Oh, Gran," he murmured, and he and Merry wrapped their arms around the half-Brownie, and she wrapped her own thin arms around their necks, pulling them close and holding on tightly.

"Have a care tonight, Merry, your tongue always gets you in trouble," she whispered to them. "And you as well, harry, your Chains won't save you from everything…. I could not bare to lose either of you," she trailed off softly, and Harry tightened his arms on her, resting his head on her shoulder and closing his eyes as Merry stroked a hand through Gran's gorgeous hair.

"Why did you grant him the divorce three years ago? Why then" Merry asked suddenly, pulling back, and Harry reluctantly did the same, catching sight of the picture his sister was staring at, and knowing she spoke of Uar, their ex-grandfather. Harry stared at the picture of him sitting with their tiny Gran, took in his tall, muscular body, his golden waves of hair over his black suit. He was handsome, very fair of face, with blue on blue on blue in his eyes. He was, outwardly, all a woman could want, but for his cruelty, his title earned not just because his three monstrous sons, either.

"Because it was time, child," Gran answered Merry's question simply. "Time to let him go."

"He didn't talk to Andais on our behalf, did he?" Merry demanded warily, and Harry quickly realized what his sister was getting at. Uar had a good amount of power in the Seelie Court, and Andais respected power. "That wasn't the price of his freedom from you, was it?" Gran laughed, long and loud, and Harry felt his shoulders relax at the sound, smiling at her faintly, her brown eyes gleaming brightly in amusement.

"Child, child," she chortled, "do you really think that old stuffed bucket would talk to the Queen of Air and Darkness? He's still not recovered from the embarrassment that his three sons were kicked out of his Court and forced to become Andais's people." Harry frowned slightly, but Merry nodded.

"Our cousins are really not that bad," she pointed out, and Harry agreed.

"Modern surgical gloves are so thin now that it's almost like wearing nothing at all," he remarked calmly.

"They don't accidentally poison people by their touch anymore," Merry agreed; Gran pulled the two of them close in another tight hug.

"But poison coming from your hands _does_ prevent you from being a blooded Royal Guard, doesn't it?" She remarked wryly; Harry winced and the Twins reluctantly nodded.

"Well, yeah," Merry muttered, before shaking her head and leaning awayso she could look into their grandmothers face. "But as long as you avoid the Blood Royal, there are women who are willing."

"And men," Harry added, and grinned as Gran huffed in amusement.

"In the Unseelie Court I could believe it," she said absently; Merry and Harry both stilled and just looked at her. She had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'm sorry," she told them quietly, shaking her head. "That was quite uncalled for on my part. I apologize. I should know better than most that there isn't that much to choose from between the two Courts." Merry and Harry managed to smile, but Harry knew it was noticeably less happy than their earlier smiles.

"We need to get to the hotels, Gran," he murmured.

Gran walked the two of them to the door, and arm around both of their waists.

"Both of you be careful tonight," she ordered them. "_Very_ careful."

"We will be," Harry reassured her softly, Merry nodding beside him. The three of them stood teher, staring at one another.

"We love you, Gran," Merry told Gran softly, honestly, and Harry could only smile.

"And I, you, children," Gran softly replied, and there were tears in those beautiful brown eyes, which had Harry's heart clenching. She kissed the Twins on the cheek, those soft, small lips holding more love and kindness than their own mother's ever had. Her nut-brown hands, cradling their faces, were softer and kinder than their mother's lily white ones had ever been. Those hands clung to the Twins own as they began to walk away, her tears almost scalding from where they'd fallen on their faces. They tore away from each other, fingertips trembling in a last touch.

The two of them glanced back many times to watch that small brown figure at the top of the stairs. Harry knew that the old saying was to not look back, but, if you're not sure what lies ahead, what else is there but to look back?

The night had been far too emotional for his tastes and control, and they still had to visit their Auntie Dearest.

Charming.

**A/N:** Here you go, please give me feedback, thank you!


	8. Seven

**A/N:** Okay, so, people keep asking about Harry having a second Hand of Power, the answer is yes, he will have one, and, while I have a plan for it, I enjoy seeing the suggestions you guys have, so please, feel free to keep sending them in! Thus far, people have asked for the **Hand of Roses**, **Hand of Thorns**, and **Hand of Blades**, does anyone else have any other ideas?

Thank you to everyone for the support, suggestions, questions, and curiosity!

Send me more feedback, please, I appreciate it!

**Kiss of Iron**

**Seven**

The hotel Merry had set up for them was functional and somewhat decorative, but otherwise just as generic as most hotels in the long run. Harry shifted his backpack into a more comfortable position on his shoulder as Barinthus and Galen slipped through the lobby doors first, carrying Merry's suitcases while Merry just held her carry-on, which, apparently, held her weapons, something Harry both approved of and despaired over. In a perfect world, she wouldn't have felt nervous enough to feel she needed those weapons, but this was the Unseelie Court, and the world was _far_ from perfect.

Unfortunately, Barry Jenkins had beaten them to the hotel. Merry had used their pseudonyms, which they had never used in St. Louis, to get their rooms. That meant that Jenkins knew that Merry Gentry and Harry Greenwood were the Royal Unseelie Twins. How he came by that information, Harry _dearly_ wanted to know. As it was, however, Jenkins could make sure every newshound and journalist in the city found them, and asking him to keep it quiet wasn't viable, because he enjoyed getting revenge on Merry and making her squirm, no matter how petty the revenge.

Galen touched Merry's elbow after seeing the man, and lead her personally to the desk, while Harry just decided that dealing with the problem would be best. He gave Barinthus a stern look, and the former god silently moved over to Merry's other side, while Harry turned and walked calmly over to the worm, who had moved to lean on the wall next to the elevators.

"Mr. Jenkins," Harry greeted softly, a genial smile in place as he offered his hand, which Jenkins took with a smile as well.

"Fancy seeing you here, Harkin," he greeted cheerfully, and Harry inclined his head.

"I hope you've had a good day, thus far?" He asked politely, and saw a small flicker of confusion in the worm's eyes, even as he kept smiling.

"I have, with the exception of the small tiff your sister and I got into at the airport," he replied easily. "And yourself?" Harry nodded, slipping his thumbs into his jean pockets casually.

"Oh, yes, I have had an excellent day so far," he replied, letting warmth enter his tone as if he and Jenkins were fond acquaintances rather than enemies. "It's been three years since I have seen my sister or stepped a foot in St. Louis, and here I am, doing both at once! Yes, it has been a good day." He nodded cheerfully, glancing over when he felt a flicker of energy that felt more Seelie than Unseelie, before realizing that Merry had made skin contact with the woman at the desk, who was staring at Barinthus lustfully. Being descendants from five fertility Goddesses of the Seelie Court meant that his sister and him got a few quirks, like the ability to see people's fantasies through skin contact, if their lust was powerful enough. It could lead to very awkward conversations, which was one of the reasons Harry didn't touch people much outside the bedroom, where such images were moot point or just inspiration.

"You and your sister weren't together this whole time?" Jenkins asked, eyebrows raised. "From what I've seen, you two are usually connected at the hip, doing everything together." Harry let his genial smile turn wicked, his eyes half-lidded, and let just a single layer of his glamours fall, enough to give the sense of Otherness that most looked over, watching Jenkins eyes intensify.

"Oh, dear _Barry_," He purred, leaning close, watching the man lean back despite being a good foot or so taller. Harry reached forward and let his fingers play with a button on the mans shirt, ignoring his hatred of the man in order to play with him, pushing it back so he could pretend that this man was just that, a man, so he could be even mildly attractive to the Prince. "While Merry and I don't do _everything_ together," he murmured, letting his voice deepen, his eyes gleam with heated interest as a hand lifted to brush fingertips against the mans stubble, watching as his breath hitched. "We are _far_ from averse to _sharing_…" Smiling like a satisfied cat, Harry left that image in the reporters mind, turning and nodding up at Barinthus when the god joined him, Merry and Galen following. The former god reached past the stunned, wide-eyed Barry Jenkins to push the elevator button, and Harry made sure to continue to make random eye contact with the man every time it seemed like he was about to come back to himself, letting the glamour on his eyes fade more and more with each time, until he was staring at Jenkins hungrily, his glowing, inhuman eyes intense and stunning the man silent.

Merry may have gotten the Seelie eyes, but Harry had gotten the ability to stun and captivate with his eyes, if he was so inclined, and, as much as he hated Jenkins, he was tired and didn't want to deal with the mans petty idiocy. Merry curled her arms around his waist, resting her chin on his shoulder, and let her own eyes glow, catching on to what her twin had been doing. Casually, as if by accident, but too sensual to be anything but deliberate, she dragged her arms slowly up his torso, pulling his shirt up with her, and exposing his leanly muscled abs, while Harry turned his head and pressed his lips to her temple.

Jenkins looked like he had swallowed his tongue, completely out of his depth for once, and Harry could feel Merry's vindictive glee.

"Barry," she purred, nuzzling her nose underneath Harry's jaw and pressing a soft kiss to his pulse point. "We don't care what you print… But I do believe you are less than two feet from us." Arching her body slightly, her breasts pressed firmly to Harry's side, her nails scraping up his abs, she sent a look to Galen with a sultry smile. "Can you please have the desk clerk call the police, and tell them we're being harassed?" She asked pleasantly, and Barry blinked, shaking his head as Merry chastely kissed Harry on the cheek and spun away with a smile.

"My pleasure," Galen said easily, turning and walking back to the desk. Harry pulled his glamours back into place neatly, smile once more genial and distant, while Jenkins blinked, his face turning dark, mouth sneering as he glared, cheeks pinking in embarrassment.

"You little cunt," he hissed, and Harry continued to smile genially, thumbs once more hooking into his pockets.

"Funny," he said mildly, easily, "here I thought you'd call me a bitch, seeing as how I'm such a _good_ little doggy, aren't I?" And, for a split second, he showed Jenkins the truth behind his smile, the vicious, deadly rage that writhed inside him for the chance to tear the man apart, and he watched the mans eyes go wide, his skin blanch, as he tried to take a step back only to remember that he was leaning against the wall.

"The police won't do anything to me," Jenkins managed, staring into Harry's eyes, and he was afraid.

"Pity," Harry replied, voice completely mild and that genial smile still in place, even as he hid his hatred once more, leaving only burnt orange eyes filled with polite disinterest as he turned from the man.

"I'm so very glad you're both home," Jenkins whispered hoarsely after a second, and there was pure venom mixed with the fear Harry had put there. "So _very, very_ glad."

"I think, Barry, that you're about to get your walking papers," Merry commented cheerfully as she watched two men walk over, one with a badge that said "Asst. Manager" and the other with a badge that just said his name.

"No court order is going to keep me away from you, Meredith," Barry told her, and wasn't quite able to stop from flinching when Harry looked at him again. "Or you, Harkin," he hissed, fists clenching, as if being angry would stop the fear he felt. "My hands itch when I'm near a story. The bigger the story, the more they itch. I'm just about to scratch my skin off every time I'm near the two of you. Something big is coming, and it revolves around you." Harry wrapped an absent arm around his sister, humming politely, as if Jenkins was just some nobody Court member jabbering at him.

"Gee, Barry, when did you become a prophet?" Merry snarked, leaning against Harry without hesitation, still amused though it was beginning to fade. The expression on Barry's face turned dark, his eyes gleaming as he leaned closer, but not too close. It was enough that Harry could smell his aftershave and the stale scent of cigarettes.

"One afternoon by a quiet country road, I had what you might call an _epiphany_," he hissed, baring his teeth in a grimacing smile. "I've had the gift ever since."

"Fascinating," Harry replied with disinterest; the two men arrived at their side, grabbing Barry by the arms and pulling him away. He didn't struggle, but went quietly, staring at the Twins with a faintly unhinged look.

"They'll hold him in the Manager's office until the police come," Galen commented easily. "They won't arrest him, Merry, you know that," he pointed out; Merry nodded, wrapping an arm around Harry's waist so that they were half-hugging one another.

"No, Missouri doesn't have stalker laws yet," she commented, looking thoughtful and mildly amused about something. The elevator doors opened, and the four of them stepped in, Harry and Merry separating to lean against opposite walls, Galen joining Merry while Barinthus stood by Harry's side.

"Jenkins never learns," Galen commented once the elevator was moving. "You'd think after what you did to him, he'd be afraid of you." Harry didn't so much as twitch, well used to Court traps and knowing better than to react, but Merry had gotten out of habit, her eyes widening in surprise before she could help herself. When she got control of her self, she frowned up at Galen.

"That was a guess," she said.

"But a good one," Galen pointed out right back; Barinthus frowned.

"What did you do to him, Meredith?" He asked. "You know the rules."

"I know the rules," Merry replied tartly; Harry chuckled.

"You should have let me kill him when we had the chance, Merry," he told her, reaching up to absently drag his fingers through his two-inch hair with a hum, ignoring the sharp looks Galen and Barinthus gave him. "You know I could have made it so no one would ever have found the body. I still could, you know…" She shook her head, and Harry sighed mournfully. "I thought you'd say that."

"Leave it be, Harry," Merry told him with her own sigh, just as the elevator came to a stop. Merry started to step out first, but Galen stopped her before she could, a hand on his shoulder. Harry remained where he was, patiently waiting.

"We're the bodyguards, Merry," Galen reminded gently, but firmly. "Let one of us go first."

"Sorry, I've gotten out of the habit," she admitted, and Harry frowned heavily.

"Get back into habit, Merry," he told her seriously, frowning at her. "We're at Court once more, where a spell, blade, or body could be around the corner, waiting to separate our head from our neck. I will _not_ burry you, understand?" He asked, sharply, and Barinthus placed one large hand on his shoulder calmingly as Merry gave him large, startled eyes, nodding hesitantly.

"It's our job to take risks, not you," the man told her simply; Merry nodded again, leaning against her wall as he held the "Door Open" button.

"I know that, Barinthus," she insisted; the former god arched a brow.

"And yet you would have stepped into the hall," he pointed out mildly; Galen very cautiously peeked out of the elevator, before stepping out fully.

"Clear," he told them, sweeping into a low bow, his braid falling over his shoulder to the floor. Harry made a point of stepping out before his sister, eyes and senses making a quick scan, before he stepped past the still bowing Guard and started down the hall.

"Get up Galen," Merry ordered, following after him; Galen darted ahead of her, half running, half dancing.

"Oh no, my Lady, my Lord, I must needs open the lock!" He declared with wide, guileless eyes as Harry snorted, lips twitching.

"Calm down, Dobby," he told the Guard, bad mood sliding away as Galen grinned at him.

"Master has given Galen socks!" He squealed, and Harry snorted, lifting a hand instinctively to cover his mouth as he started laughing. Barinthus was following them sedately, suitcase in hand, watching them like a father watching his unruly children play, and Harry met those eyes and flushed at the thought, because he'd gotten a sudden image of the former god pulling him over his knee for being a bad boy, and that was _not_ the image he needed in order to continue being useful. It didn't help when Barinthus met his eyes, and let them gleam with dark _knowing_, a smirk curling his lips briefly, before his face returned to its somber mask. Harry frowned faintly, tilting his head, before continuing onward slowly.

"You seem solemn today, Barinthus," Merry commented as Galen waited for them by the front door of her rooms, Harry claiming the room next to hers. Barinthus looked at her, and Harry stiffened as his secondary lids flickered, his nervous tick.

"What's wrong, Barinthus?" He asked quietly, stepping up to his sister's side so that the two of them were looking up at him. "What haven't you told us?"

"Trust me, Meredith, Harkin," he told them softly; Merry and Harry both reached forward and took his free hand between theirs.

"We do trust you, Barinthus," they murmured together, staring up at him and letting their honesty bleed through. Barinthus tilted his hand so that he was holding both of theirs, so delicately it was like he was afraid they would break.

"Meredith, little Meredith," he started softly, fondly. "You were always a mixture of directness, coyness, and tenderness."

"I'm not as tender as I used to be, Barinthus," she told him quietly; he nodded.

"The world does tend to beat such things out of you, unfortunately…" He turned his soft gaze on Harry, who smiled the same smile usually reserved for his sister, staring up at the Guard. "And then there's little Harkin, who was, and still is, a mix of playfulness, sternness, and paranoia," he chuckled, and Harry grinned.

"I've only gotten worse with the paranoia," he teased; Barinthus chuckled.

"And the playfulness," he replied mildly, making Harry smirk, before he sighed, and raised the twins hands to press a soft kiss to their fingers, his lips brushing Merry's ring and sending a tingle of magic through the three of them, which had Harry blinking and staring at the ring curiously.

"What, Barinthus?" Merry demanded, and Harry looked up to see that the former god's face was solemn once again. "What?" Barinthus shook his head.

"It has been a very long time since that ring has come to life in such a manner," he told her solemnly; Harry cautiously reached forward, taking his sister's hand in his, and both twitched as the a wave of magic flowed through them, the ring itself gleaming faintly.

"Whoa," Harry could only murmur, staring at the ring intensely as Merry questioned the Guard.

"What does the ring have to do with anything?" she asked, confused and slightly bemused.

"It had become just another piece of metal, and now it lives again."

"And?" Merry prodded; Barinthus looked over their heads towards Galen.

"Let's get them to their rooms," He told the younger Guard, avoiding Merry's questions, and Harry gave him a silent, patient look, waiting, even as Galen took the key from his pocket and went inside the room to check it for spells and dangers, leaving the three of them alone in the hall.

"Tell us what it means," Harry ordered quietly, "that the ring reacts to you, Galen, and myself, but not our grandmother." Barinthus sighed lowly, closing his beautiful blue eyes briefly.

"The Queen once used the ring to choose her consorts." Merry arched a brow.

"Which means what?" She asked.

"It reacts to men the ring deems worthy of you," he told her; the Twins shared a bewildered look.

"I don't think that's _exactly_ what's happening," Harry decided carefully, eying the ring. While what he'd told Jenkins was true, that Merry and he had shared lovers in the past, he didn't think that the ring was saying they were meant to be together. He didn't much mind the idea of sharing a man or woman between them, but they never shared one another's bodies. That was a little too much.

"The Queen is the only one who knows the complete powers of the ring," Barinthus informed them, looking only mildly uncomfortable. "I know only that it has been centuries since the ring has been alive on her hand. That it lives for you is both good and dangerous. The Queen might be jealous that the ring is yours now." Harry nodded, grimacing in understanding. Logic was not quite their Aunt's strong point most days, as of late.

"She gave it to me," Merry pointed out, mildly exasperated. "Why would she be jealous?"

"Because Auntie Dearest is Queen of Air and Darkness, "Harry reminded dryly, and Merry paused, before grimacing and nodding in understanding." Galen reappeared before more could be said, stepping out of Merry's room.

"All clear," he announced; Barinthus nodded before walking past him, forcing the younger Guard to quickly step aside. "What's his problem?" The Guard muttered, bewildered.

"The ring, I think," Merry told him, stepping into the room, while Harry grabbed Galen and went to his own room, waiting outside as Galen went in to check it.

"All clear," the Guard assured him after a minute, and nodding towards a black plastic encased object that was resting on the small table near the kitchen area. "Your Court outfit is there and waiting, please hurry," he asked; Harry nodded, knowing better than to keep their Aunt waiting. Galen left him to it, and Harry set his backpack down before neatly stripping until he was completely bear. Calmly, he lifted the plastic up, hooking the hanger on a small ledge just over his head so that he could unzip the clothing protector without risking catching any of the cloth.

The outfit inside was properly chic and formal for dinner attire with his Aunt. Black slacks with matching suit jacket, over a red silk shirt that had ruffled sleeves and a high collar. A black vest went over that, and the whole getup was complete with a black and red striped tie. Smiling, Harry dug into his back for a pair of red silk boxers, barely glancing up as Barinthus entered, closing the door behind him and leaning against it to watch Harry pull the boxers up his legs. Turning to start on his suit, Harry twitched, startled, when large hands settled on his waist and he found Barinthus pressing against his back, a long line of heat as the man leaned forward to press a kiss to the Prince's garnet-colored hair, his beautiful aurora of blue hair sliding down Harry's front, leaving him unable to stop his shiver and a low moan in the back of his throat.

"You always did look exceptionally beautiful in red and black, Harkin," Barinthus murmured into his hair, and Harry could only lean back against the Guard, tilting his head back so that his eyes, glamour gone, could hold those clear blue.

"Funny," he murmured back, voice edging towards husky as the movement had Barinthus's silky hair dragging over the sensitive skin of his hip. "I always thought I looked best in nothing but skin." Barinthus chuckled, a dark, masculine sound that had Harry's skin glimmering warningly as his pupils expanded. Those hands that neatly encircled his waist tightened, thumbs digging in little, possessive circles.

"That you do, little one, that you do," The Guard told him, voice deeper as they continued to stare into each others eyes.

"…If we start something now, I don't think I'd be able to stop it," Harry finally warned the former god, voice growing hoarser as his blood heated dangerously, skin faintly glowing as his glamours and illusions fell away, Barinthus's hair and eyes shimmering inhumanly in response.

"Funny," Barinthus replied, using Harry's own comment against him. "Neither would I." The two of them remained there, standing still, faintly glowing with arousal and heat, before, slowly, Barinthus pulled his hands and body away, and Harry lifted his head up with a low, slightly-shaky sigh, closing his eyes so that he could focus again. When he opened them again, Barinthus was kneeling in front of him, eyes heated as he carefully held the Prince's slacks, ready to help him dress, making Harry's breath hitch. Carefully, Harry set a hand on the former god's shoulder, so he could better keep his balance as he lifted first one leg, and then the other, Barinthus guiding them into the proper places even as the two of them never looked away from one another.

They should stop, Harry knew, as Barinthus slid those slacks up his legs slowly, making more skin contact than strictly necessary and making Harry's breath hitch as the god's thumbs purposefully dragged against the sensitive skin on his inner thighs. It would be impossible for the god not to notice Harry's arousal, but, from the bulge Harry could make out, he was _far_ from the only one with a problem. And, if he was honest, which he usually was, Harry didn't _want_ to stop. His blood was pounding, hotter than it had been in years, and he'd never felt more desirable than when he saw Barinthus's eyes glow, staring at him with such _hunger_.

The dress shirt slid like cool water up his arms as Barinthus stood, now, in front of him, still making eye contact, and Harry was panting lightly, cheeks dark, as the former god purposefully pressed hard against the darker marks he'd left on Harry's neck, under the guise of straightening the Prince's collar.

"These are mine," Barinthus told him, voice a deep rumble, eyes darkly pleased as he dug his thumbs into a bruise, and Harry could no more stop his head from falling back and the helpless, pleasured noise from escaping his mouth, than he could stop the rain from falling or the sun from shining. Barinthus's eyes flashed, bright and gleaming, before he pulled his hands slowly away and focused on tucking in Harry's shirt, hands slipping beneath the waistband of the younger mans slacks with a sultry possessiveness.

"If you don't stop that," Harry managed hoarsely as Barinthus purposefully dragged his thumbs against the Princes nipples while 'adjusting' his vest. "I won't be held accountable for my actions." Barinthus chuckled again, pleased, before he slipped Harry's tie around his neck, tugging it tightly, teasingly, and making Harry whimper, eyes glowing too-bright and skin gleaming like golden sunshine as Barinthus smirked down at him, deftly tying a neat Eldredge Knot as if he were tying shoelaces.

"Perhaps another time, then," the former god told him, and Harry couldn't help but hiss as the man brushed his hand teasingly across the obvious bulge in Harry's slacks as he turned to pick up the Prince's suit jacket.

"I thought _I_ was supposed to be the tease?" Harry muttered, and Barinthus laughed, loud and deeply as the Prince smirked, plucking his jacket from the amused god's hands and pulling it on neatly. Barinthus handed him a pair of black socks and held a pair of black dress shoes while Harry sat in a nearby chair and pulled them on.

"I think that the occasional reversal of roles can bring some… _Excitement_ into a relationship," Barinthus told the Prince with a dark smirk, and Harry couldn't help his shiver.

"I think you bring enough excitement into my life just by _breathing_," he murmured, and watched those gleaming blue eyes soften, affection running deeply as the god offered him a hand to help pull him to his feet. Harry accepted, and watched as, just like that moment in the car, Barinthus lifted his captured hand to his lips and pressed a soft, tenderly chaste kiss to his knuckles, before the god smiled, and tucked the hand into his elbow.

"Shall we go collect your sister and Galen, my Prince?" he murmured, and Harry leaned against him for a moment, breathing in the scent of the sea as he slowly pulled up just enough glamour to hide the still shimmering arousal-caused glow to his skin, and a small illusion on his neck, hiding his 'love-bites' from the senses, before he smiled up at the Guard fondly, his iris's fading green rings on full display.

"Let's, my dear Knight," he agreed softly, and the two of them left to do just that, a thrum of tension still between them, coated, now, with a deeper affection.

As it always had been.

**A/N:** How was that? I wanted to mess with Jenkins and develop a bit more of Harry's character, as he's a player in the Court, he would be able to make someone want to swallow their tongue, through arousal, fear, or embarrassment. Merry just enjoys her brother's teasing others.

Please give me feedback, thank you!


	9. Eight

**A/N:** Someone asked after the Harry Potter joke I made last chapter, and the answer to that is, no, no one knows he's been reincarnated/reborn. The Harry Potter books exist in the Merry Gentry world, and Galen read them. Harry made an offhand comment about Dobby and Galen responded as a fan to the books, which is just one of the reasons Harry laughed so much at it, besides Galen being silly.

Thank you guys for reviewing!

**Long Chapter Is Long, btw.**

Thank you to everyone for the support, suggestions, questions, and curiosity!

Send me more feedback, please, I appreciate it!

**Kiss of Iron**

**Eight**

The Sithin, the Faeries Mounds, rose out of the dying light, small mountains of velvet against the last failing beams of a sun that had well and truly set. The moon was high, a smooth and shining silver, and the air was crisp and chill, and Harry couldn't help but breathe it in deeply. Miami had been warm and humid, and, while Missouri was humid, it was a different kind. Harry wished that he'd been allowed back this time of year and just been allowed to see those he cared about. He'd have had no issue at all with that. Autumn was his Father's favorite time of the year and, despite the negative connotation sit had for _Harry_, he loved it just as much.

Merry stopped walking along the path and Harry stopped at her side, and the two held each others hands and just breathed.

"What's wrong?" Galen asked from where he and Barinthus had stopped, watching them, and the Twins shared a soft smile.

"Nothing," they murmured. "Absolutely nothing." They breathed in together, matching depth and speed and breath, hearts thumping as one as they closed their eyes and lifted their faces towards the darkened sky.

"The air never smells like this in California," Merry whispered; Harry hummed.

"Or Florida," he murmured back softly.

"You always did love October," Barinthus commented, and Harry wished it was truer, when he'd only ever gotten into October because of his sister's love for it. Galen was grinning.

"I took you both and Keelin trick o' treating almost every year until you got too old for it," he reminisced, and Harry grinned while both he and Merry shook their heads.

"We didn't get too old for it," he reassured the knight impishly, sharing a mischievous grin with his sister. "Merry's glamour and my illusions got powerful enough to hide what we were."

"Keelin and us went out alone after we turned fifteen," Merry added, and the Guards blinked, startled.

"You had enough glamour at fifteen to hide Keelin from the sight of mortals?" He asked; Merry nodded but Harry shook his head.

"_Merry_ had enough glamour," he told the former god. "_I_ had enough illusion, but I can only do small glamours." The former god opened his mouth to say something else, but something, or, well, some_one_ interrupted before he could, voice smooth.

"Well, isn't this touching?" The male voice asked, and the foursome whirled around, Harry's left hand glowing purple ominously as his Chains reacted, stirring beneath the ground around them, making rippled like eels in shallow water before he managed to sooth them away, Magic dissipating as he stared at the man standing behind them with his small group. Galen had stepped immediately in front of Merry, but Barinthus had loomed up behind Harry, knowing better than to get between his Chains and a threat.

Cel stood in the middle of the path, wearing his midnight hair like a long straight cloak so that it was hard to tell where his hair ended and his black duster coat began. He was dressed all in black except for the gleam of his white shirt, which shone like a lonely star among all the blackness. Standing to one side of him, ready to stand in front of Harry's sadistic cousin, was Siobhan, the Captain of his Guard and his favorite assassin. She was small, the same height as Harry, but he had seen her pick up a Volkswagen and crush someone with it. Her hair shone white in the dark, but Harry knew it was more silvery and gray than white, like cobwebs and withered spider webs. Her skin was a pale, dull white, not the shining white of Cel's and Merry's, but the white of a dead fish, looking slimy and unnatural. Her eyes matched that imaging, a dull gray and filmed over. She was wearing black armor, her helmet tucked under one arm. It was a bad sign when Siobhan was in full battle armor, Harry knew, and his Chains hissed even as he smiled genially, the guise for Court coiling about him like an old friend even as he shifted his body weight away from Galen and his sister, so that, if he had to, he was ready for a fight, eyes locked on Cel's face.

"Full body armor, Siobhan," Galen noted neutrally, face smooth and calm. "What's the occasion?"

"Preparation is all in battle, Galen," the female Guard answered, voice a dry, whispering sibilance that matched her perfectly.

"Are we about to do battle?" Galen asked, voice still neutral, and Harry made a show of chuckling along with Cel when the other Prince laughed, the same, cruelly mocking laughter that had made the Royal Unseelie Twin's childhood hellish.

"No battle tonight, Galen," Cel assured, grinning, and he was, Harry could freely admit, gorgeous, just as Siobhan, though strange, had that beautiful Otherness that he adored. "Just Siobhan's paranoia. She feared that Meredith or Harkin would have gained powers in their trip to the Lands of the West and East. I see that Siobhan's fears were groundless." Harry spoke before anyone else could, and did so while smiling.

"It's good to see that the lovely Siobhan takes her duties so seriously," he said mildly, smiling as he inclined his head respectfully towards the Guard. He hated Cel, but that was no excuse to be rude towards his Guards. "And it is good to see that some things never change, Dear Cousin," he added, letting just the slightest of mocking notes into his voice, watching as Cel's eyes tightened slightly and Siobhan's shoulders grew slightly more tense, her dead-fish eyes staring at Harkin in a silent, judging way.

"Hello, Cousin Harkin," Cel greeted, a sharpness to his smile that wasn't in his tone, and Harry inclined his head in response.

"Greetings, Dear Cousin," he replied back, tone sweet and smile genial, eyes utterly neutral but clear. It was a careful balancing act he had begun, but, surprisingly, he was never bored with these Court games he and his Cousin played.

"You've cut your hair, I see," Cel remarked; Harry lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug, reaching up and dragging his hand through his short scarlet locks.

"It's much easier to take care of now," he replied easily. "Though, it leaves very little for my lovers to cling to," he added with a wicked flash of humor, watching Cel's mouth twitch, whether in amusement or annoyance he couldn't tell.

"I do not doubt that," the Prince replied calmly; Barinthus laid a hand on Harry's shoulder and spoke up.

"Why are you here, Cel?" He asked calmly. "The Queen sent us to bring Harkin and Meredith to her presence." Cel moved, gliding down the path, tugging on the leash that went from his hand to a small figure crouched at his feet. Harry struggled not to narrow his eyes as recognition rose as he stared at the figure that had been hidden behind Cel's coat and Siobhan's body.

This would not end very well, he knew, and took the smallest of steps closer to his sister as the figure unfolded from the ground, her head rising no higher than Cel's chest.

Keelin was as brown as Gran, but her hair was thick and fell in straight brown folds to her ankles. She looked human enough, but Harry knew that that brown skin was actually thick, downy soft fur. Her face was flat and featureless, like something half-formed. Her thin, delicate body had several extra arms and one extra set of legs, making her move in a strange rocking motion, just as Harry remembered her. Her father had been a Durig, a Goblin with a _very_ dark sense of humor, the kind of humor that could get a human killed. Her mother had been a Brownie. She had been Merry's chosen companion almost from birth, and under Harry's protection as such. His little sister's best friend had all but been raised with them, ever since Merry had looked into those pretty brown eyes that first time.

When she had been raped all those years before, beaten nearly to death, so badly that her eye had been lying against her shattered cheekbone as she had struggled to breath through her crushed face, Harry had been the one to hunt down her attackers, and he had been the one to challenge them to a duel, the one to rip them limb from limb as they writhed and screams. His vengeance had been brutal, painful, and long, just as their assault had been, and he had been the one to meet Keelin's eyes and tell her she needn't fear them ever again.

Seeing her at the end of Cel's leash both infuriated him and calmed him, disgustingly enough. To becomes Cel's "pet" was a punishment, and Harry knew that this was his Aunt's punishment on his sister and himself. His sister, because seeing her best friend in such a position would hurt her, and hurt her deeply. Himself because seeing someone he had all but declared his to protect, in the possession of another, riled him in dangerous ways, and his Aunt did so _love_ to rile him, to crack his genial mask. The fact that she had chosen this as a punishment soothed him, however, because he knew she could have chosen a _far_ worse fate, and, while Cel was a sadist and vicious, he was also possessive and liked to show off, which meant that he wouldn't hurt Keelin too badly, all things considered.

"Keelin," Merry said, stepping away from her Guards, stepping closer, and Harry stepped so that he was directly next to her, offering her his support even as his mask didn't so much as twitch (he knew Keelin hated him for that, for his supposed apathy, even as she loved him for his protection. It was why he tried not to pull many into his realm of protection, because he _could not_ show his emotions in Court without due cause, and showing too much was a death sentence, while too little could go either way.).

"What are you doing… Here?" Merry asked her friend, voice calm, reasonable, even mildly curious, and Harry was proud of her, because he knew she really wanted to shout, to scream. Cel drew Keelin to him in a show of mocking cruelty, stroking a hand through her hair. Pressing her face to his chest. His hand slid down her shoulder, lower and lower, until he cupped one of her breasts, kneading it, and Harry sneered beneath his mask, unseen, not even hinted at. Keelin turned her head so that her hair hid her face from Merry and, in the darkness, she was merely a deeper shadow against Cel.

"Keelin, Keelin, talk to me," Merry coaxed; Cel smirked cruelly at her.

"She wants to be part of the Court," he told Merry maliciously. "My pleasure in her makes her part of all the festivities." He pulled her closer to his body, his hand sliding out of sight and down the round neckline of Keelin's dress. "If she gets with child, she will be a Princess, and her babe Heir to the Throne. Her child would push you both back, to Fourth and Fifth in line, respectively," he goaded, smirking at Harkin, who didn't so much as twitch, continuing to smile and adding just enough disinterest into the Courtly mask to have Cel's eyes tightening in irritation at his lack of response, before the cruel Prince returned his gaze to the much more emotional Merry, who had taken another half-step forward, hand reaching uncertainly towards her friend.

"Keelin…" She said softly, beseechingly, and Harry felt his heart hurt for her.

"Merry," Keelin said, just as softly, turning her head towards the female Twin, her voice just as small and sweet as it had been last time Harry had heard it.

"No, no, my Pet," Cel crooned mockingly, hand shifting further and further into her dress. "Do not speak. I will speak for us." Keelin fell silent once more, and hid her face again. Merry seemed to still, and Harry slipped a hand over to cup her elbow, watching as she jumped slightly at it. She was shaking, her hands in tight fists, and Harry recognized her anger, squeezing her elbow softly in support.

"The Queen put a geas on us all not to tell you, Merry, Harry," Galen murmured softly. "I should have warned you anyway." Harry sent the green knight a warning look at that, telling him, silently, to speak no word about even _thinking_ of breaking a geas. The Queen would have him tortured or executed depending on her mood, and Harry had no wish to have to care for a heartbroken sister.

"My, my, Cousin," Harry spoke, giving his sister time to realize the other Princes ploy, his wish for her to do something rash so that he could excuse Siobhan for killing her in his 'defense'. "You always seem to be surrounded by beautiful women whenever we meet. Are you trying to make me jealous, or just showing off, I wonder," he mused aloud, voice mild and faintly curious, but nothing insulting in his tone, just calmly stated fact, for it was true, Cel always surrounded himself with beautiful women, even if they were only a specifically unique beauty, like Siobhan. Cel flashed him a smile, straight white teeth gleaming, and carelessly shrugged even as he watched Merry hungrily, eager for her to explode, but she wouldn't.

"It is merely the way things are, dear Harkin," Cel purred, and Harry chuckled lowly, sounding honestly amused though he was far from it. He had inherited _that_ ability from the Seelie Court as well, as they were truly the Court who preferred an Illusion of the thing to the thing itself, and he could mimic them as easily as a true member of their Court.

"How long has Keelin been with him?" Merry asked Galen, something sharp and calculating flashing in her eyes; Cel opened his mouth to answer and she sent him a cool smile, raising a hand. "No, don't answer, Cousin. I asked the question of Galen." Cel smiled brightly at her, and strangely held his tongue, eyes gleaming eagerly in the dark. "Answer me, Galen," Merry ordered; the green knight complied.

"Almost since you left," he told her; Harry saw it as her eyes tightened, holding back tears that made her Seelie green-and-gold eyes gleam brightly.

"My, Cousin, you do work fast," Harry interjected, giving his sister time to control herself once more, smiling genially at Cel. "It did not take you very long to scoop up my sister's lovely Lady-in-Waiting, hmm? Tell me, did you wish to have her while we were still at Court, or was it only after we left that you grew interested in lovely Keelin?" It sounded cruel, and apathetic, and nothing like Harry knew he truly was, but that is the price of playing at Court. It is all about the way you are seen, by your enemies and allies, and he would always play the part of a cruel protector and apathetic Prince, lest his heart be taken from him.

"Oh, I don't know, dear Cousin," Cel replied, still smiling as he watched Merry. "It seemed like, one day after you left, she all but gave herself to me, almost like a gift, wouldn't you say?" Harry didn't react, and, lost in her thoughts, neither did Merry, though he knew she heard the words. Cel's hand slid back into view, and seeing it laying pale against Keelin's shoulder rather than in the depths of her dress gave Merry some of her control again.

"The Queen has sent me to escort my fair Cousins to her private chambers," Cel announced easily, glancing at Galen and Barinthus with a cool smile. "The two of you have an appointment at the Throne Room."

"I am aware of what I am expected to do," Barinthus replied coolly, calmly.

"How can we trust you not to harm them?" Galen asked coldly, and Harry bit back the urge to sigh in irritation.

"Me?" Cel asked, looking amused and disbelieving, but it was just slightly wrong, like an actor trying too hard, making it fall slightly flat. "Harm my fair Cousins?" He laughed, bright and amused.

"We shall not leave," Barinthus replied, voice very low and steady, and Harry could recognize the anger in it as the smell of the sea reached out and tangled itself around his senses, Magic softly rippling like a wave, lapping against his awareness.

"You fear that I will harm either or both of them, too, Barinthus?" Cel asked mockingly.

"No," Barinthus replied, stepping forward so that he stood behind and between both Twins, looming over them like a King of Old. "I am afraid that _they_ will harm _you_, Prince Cel. The life of her only Heir means a great deal to our Queen," he pointed out; Cel laughed. He laughed hard and loud and long, until tears actually crept from his eyes, or he pretended at least pretended to wipe them away, Harry could not tell in the dark.

"You mean, Barinthus, that you're afraid they will _try_ to harm me, and I will put them in their place." Barinthus leaned down and murmured, low enough that only the Twins could hear him.

"You cannot afford to look weak before Cel," he told them quietly; Harry nodded minimally. "I did not expect him to meet us. It is a bold move. If you have gained power in the Lands of the East and the West, show it now, Meredith, Harkin." Harry and Merry turned as one, staring up into the former god's face. The former god leaned closer, his hair brushing their cheeks, the scent of the ocean and something herbal and clean flooding Harry's senses soothingly, protectively.

"If we show him our powers now," Merry whispered back, "it will take away all element of surprise later on." She had a decent point, but Barinthus spoke softly, his voice the murmur of water over round stones, using his power quietly to make sure Cel didn't overhear them.

"If Cel insists that we leave and we refuse, it will go badly for us," he returned; Harry resisted the urge to frown, not liking the idea of anyone treating the sea god less than respectfully, as was his due as one of the oldest of the Sidhe.

"Since when has the Queen's Guard listened to her son?" he asked instead, and Barinthus gave him serious eyes.

"Since the Queen has decreed it so," he replied somberly, and something cold curled into a tight coil in Harry's stomach.

"I order you, Barinthus, and you, Galen, to go to your overdue appointment," Cel called, patience fading. "We will escort my Cousins to the Queen's presence."

"Make him fear you," Barinthus whispered. "Make him wish for us to remain. Cel would have access to his mothers ring." Harry turned his gaze away from the sea god to stare down the path at his Cousin, smiling genially and giving him a one-moment-please gesture, watching his eyes narrow, before Harry returned his gaze to those beautiful frozen spring blue eyes. He wanted to stroke a hand down that alabaster cheek, but he did not. To show too much favor in Barinthus was a weakness they couldn't afford.

"I gave you a direct order," Cel called sharply, voice rising over the growling of the wind as it began to pick up. It rushed through the men's long coats, whispering in the dried leaves of the trees at the edge of the field to their left. As one, Harry and his sister turned towards those trees, and Harry marveled silently. He could almost understand the wind and the trees, almost hear the trees sighing of winter's coming and the long, cold wait ahead. He closed his eyes halfway as the wind rushed and hurried, sending a small herd of newly fallen leaves skittering down the rock path past Cel and his women, to brush up against Harry and Merry's feet and legs, drawing Harry's gaze downward slowly, as if he was moving through molasses, his Magic rising in him in response as he and his sister lost themselves. The wind picked the leaves up in a swirl, like tiny hands playing against their legs, only for those leaves to be carried up and past them in a sudden burst of sweet autumn wind. As one, connected, Harry and Merry closed their eyes, and breathed in deeply.

In sync, lost in the Magic that whirled around them, that rode the wind and slunk beneath their feet, the Twins stepped together, away from their Guards and closer towards Cel, though it wasn't him that they were moving towards. It was the Call of the Land. It was happy, happy that they had returned to it, and, in a way it had never done before, the Power in the Land welcomed them. Together, the Twins spread their arms to either side, and opened themselves to the night. Harry breathed deeply as he felt the wind blow, not across his body, but through it, his fingertips just barely touching, and matching his sister's. It was as if they were the trees above, instead of just obstacles in the wind's way. They felt the movement of the night, the rushing pulse of it all. Beneath their feet, the ground went down and down and down, to unimaginable depths, and they could feel them all, and, for a moment, Harry knew they could feel the world itself turning beneath their feet, and his Magic rolled beneath his skin and made him glow, his golden sunlight lighting the dark beside his sister's moonlight.

He felt that slow, ponderous swing around the sun, though the Twins stood, feet planted firmly like the roots of a tree going down and down to the cool living earth. But that was all that was solid about them. The wind swept through them as if they were not there, and Harry's Magic slipped into it, and his glow grew brighter as it was blown from him, through him, around him. He knew, as his sister knew, that they could wrap the very night around them and walk invisible among the mortals…

But it wasn't mortals that they were dealing with now.

As one, perfectly in sync, the Twins opened their eyes and smiled, their conflicting emotions swept away on the wind, like the dead leaves that skittered and rattled as they were tossed and swirled playfully, as if by playful, invisible children. The wind smelled of those leaves, and something spicy, as if scented with something that was only half remembered, or half dreamed. It was a wild night, and there was Wild Magic to be had from it, if you could ken to it. Earth Magic can be ripped from the world by someone powerful enough, but the Earth was a stubborn thing and resents being used, Harry knew well. But, on some nights, or even days, the Earth offers Herself up like a woman willing her lover to come to her arms, and Harry had fallen into those very arms only once before, long ago, after he'd slipped away from his sister a week after their Father had been placed in the ground, and he had needed to grieve properly and alone.

It was, somehow, more powerful now, more wondrous, with his sister by his side, swept into the Earth's arms like a mother scooping her children up tightly after being away for too long.

Together, the Twins dropped all their barriers, and let the wind sweep away bits of themselves, like dust in the night, as they glowed together and rode the Magic so willingly offered. They gave themselves to the night, and the night filled them, the earth beneath their feet embraced them lovingly, sliding up through the soles of their feet, up, up, like a tree is fed, deep and quiet and cool. For a moment, their consciousness combined, and Harry could feel the flash of uncertainty that Merry had, and he swayed closer to her on instinct, and their fingers interlocked rather than brushed, and he let her feel his love, the deep well of it that filled his very being for her, the possessiveness and protectiveness and wryness of it, the exasperation of it, and he felt her wonder, her love, which ran just as deep but curled around him with dependence, and the need to stand on her own two feet, and her own protectiveness, and the two of them smiled.

For a moment, the two just stood, smiling, before, together, taking that first step, the wind urging them forward, playfully tossing Merry's hair into her face, and they laughed. They laughed long and bright, delight and joy in their glowing bodies and entwined minds, as they stepped down the rock path, towards their Cousin, the Earth moving with them, moving through the night as if they were swimming, swimming on the currents of Power.

They walked towards their Cousin, smiling, and he was afraid.

Siobhan stepped in front of him, lifting her helmet onto her head, her cobweb hair disappearing within the unrelieved black of it. Only her white hands showed, like lost little ghosts floating in the dark. She could injure or kill with a single touch of those pallid hands, but there was no fear, no worry, within the Twins as they rode the night, and, from the ground around them, Harry's Chains rose like ponderous snakes, coiling and sliding and utterly peaceful. They did not tear from the ground like they usually did, nor did they rip through the grass like impatient children with presents. Instead, they slid from the Earth, dark things glowing with the edge of purple that was his Hand of Power, and followed the Twins' progress like silent, loyal dogs.

Barinthus slid up behind the Twins, and they knew without seeing that he reached for them—they could feel him moving through the Power at their back. They could almost see him standing there, as if they had eyes at the back of their head. All the Magic Merry had ever possessed had been personal, and all of Harry's impersonal, but, joined as they were, like they once were, when they shared a womb and placenta and lifeblood all those years ago, their Magic joined, curled and rolled and mixed, becoming something More in these strange moments, entwining like lovers and littermates as one.

The Magic they were dealing with now was not personal, and was not truly theirs. They shared themselves, feeling small and insignificant as they joined with the entirety of the Earth, and it was far from a lonely feeling. They felt, in that moment, embraced, whole.

Wanted.

Barinthus's hand fell away before it could even brush them, and, when he spoke, his voice was hissed and slurred, like water over sand.

"If I'd known you could do this, I would not have feared for you," he told them, and they laughed, a fierce, joyous sound, feeling truly free. As one, they opened the door further, throwing it open as if it was a door in truth… No, as if the door, the wall it sat on, and the house it was held inside of, melted into the Power, and, suddenly, They were More, as One, Beyond what They were Before. Barinthus's breath caught sharply behind them.

"By the Earth's Grace, what have you done, Merry, Harry?" He asked hoarsely, and never before had he used Their nicknames, and it made Them smile.

"Sharing," They whispered, the very wind in their breath, and, as Galen came closer to Them, the Power opened to him without any thought from Them. The four of them stood there, filled with the night. It was a Generous Power, a laughing, welcoming presence, and no negativity could stand before it as they opened themselves to it willingly.

The Power moved outward from Them, or maybe They moved forward through something that was always there, but, this night They could sense it. Siobhan moved forward, and the Power did not fill her. The Power Rejected her. Siobhan's Magic was an insult to the Earth, and that slow cycle of life, because Siobhan stole that Life, rushed Death to the door of someone or something before their Time. For the first time, They understood, that somehow Siobhan stood outside the Cycle—that she was a thing of Death that still moved as if it Lived, but the Earth did not Know her.

The Power would have welcomed Cel, but he thought that first brush was Their doing, and he guarded himself against it. They felt his shields crash into place, holding him behind the metaphysical walls, safe and unable to share in the bounty offered. But Keelin did not close herself away from it. Perhaps she did not have the power to do so, or perhaps she didn't want to, either way, They felt her in the Power, felt her open to it, and heard her voice spill out in a sigh that mingled with the wind that swept and danced and swirled around them. Keelin walked to the end of her leash, raising each of her four arms wide to the welcoming night…

Cel jerked her back by that leather leash, and They felt her spirit crumble, and, the Part of Them that was Harry rose up like an avenging angel, the Protectiveness that was such an integral part of his Being rolling through the air itself like a living thing, and the Power replied in agreement. Together, They reached out Their hands, the ones not entwined together, and reached towards Their friend, and the Power spilled outward on its own, with no control of Theirs, and surrounded Keelin like a protective mother bear. It pushed at Cel like water pushes at a rock in the center of a stream, something to go around, to ignore. The push made him stumble back and away, out of reach of Keelin, who remained shrouded in the Power, and the leash fell from his hand. His pale face rose to the rising moon, and stark terror showed on that handsome face, and, within the Being They had Become, a petty pleasure rose.

The Power flexed around Them, like a mother's hand tugging on the arm of a naughty child, and They felt chastised. There was no room for pettiness in the midst of such… Life.

Keelin stood in the center of the path, arms wide, head thrown back so that the moonlight shone full upon her half-formed face. It was a rare and treasure moment for Keelin to show her face clearly in any light, though They knew her to be beautiful.

Siobhan came for Them in a dark flash of white hands and the dark gleam of armor. They reacted without hesitance, without thought, pushing Their unclasped hands forward as if that great, sluggish Power would respond to Their gesture, but, to Their surprise, it did. Siobhan stopped as if she'd come against a wall. Her white hands glowed with a pale flame that was not flame at all. Her power flared against something that not even They could see, but They felt her coldness trying to eat the warm, mobbing night, and she had no power here. If she had been among the Truly Living, if her touch had brought Ordinary Death, the Earth would not have stopped her. The Power was more Neutral than that. It loved Them in a way, Welcomed Them back, but it would have Welcomed Their decaying body to its warm, worm-filled embrace just as readily, and it would take Their Spirit on the wind and sent it elsewhere…

But Siobhan's Magic was not Natural, and she could not pass. Understanding even that much, might, _might_, give Them the key to her Destruction, but that was going to take someone more adept at offensive spells that Them to unravel the key, or more luck than even the Part of Them that was Harry would be able to find.

There was movement beyond Their group; Cel and Siobhan turned to see this latest threat, and when they saw it was Doyle, their bodies didn't react. The Prince and Heir to the Dark Throne, and his personal Guard, were afraid of the Queen's Darkness. That was interesting. Three years before, Cel had not feared Doyle. He had feared none but his Mother, and even then it was not Death he feared, because he was all she had to pass her blood along.

Her only child.

Her only Heir.

No one challenged Cel to a Duel, _ever_, because you dared not win, and to lose might mean your own death. He'd passed through his three centuries of life untouched, unchallenged, and unafraid, until now.

They saw it now, Cel's unease, almost felt it, and wondered at it. Why was he afraid now? Why?

Doyle was dressed in a black, hooded cape that swept around his ankles and his all of him from sight, despite the wind that still spread Them through the air. His face was so dark that the whites of his eyes seemed to float in the black circle of his hood.

"What goes on here, OPrince Cel?" He asked, and They shared a memory together, the Part that was Merry sharing the feel of his tongue in Her wounds, of his heat between Her legs, and They shivered. Cel moved off the path so he could keep Doyle and the rest of them in sight, and Siobhan moved with him. Keelin remained on the path, but even so, They felt the Power fading away, as if the Power was the wind, sweeping away and moving past Them to travel elsewhere. It gave Them a last, cool, spice-laden caress, and slipped away.

Suddenly, They were no longer Them, consciousness unwinding, Magic separated, reluctantly, and they were Harry and Merry again, solid and singular in a way that was almost painful even while it was comfortingly familiar. There was a price for all Magic, but not this one, Harry noted, as he breathed in the cool night air and settled more firmly into his skin, his skin no longer glowing like golden sunshine, his sister no longer looking like she'd swallowed the moon. The Magic had offered itself, they hadn't asked, and so there was no price, beyond the vaguely empty tiredness of being separated from one another again.

Keelin came down the path towards the Twins, her primary hands held out to them. She was smiling, and that awful, pinched fear was gone, swept away on the sweet winds, and Merry stepped forward to take her friend's hands in her own. They kissed each other twice, once on each cheek, before Merry drew her into her arms and hugged her close, and Harry smiled as he wrapped the two of them within his own, his Chains rising out of the dark, gleaming still with his purple magic as they lazily coiled around them, a protective shield against the dangers around them, before dissipating into shadows and purple mists.

Harry didn't know which of the two women thought it, but an image rose in his mind that was not his own, and image of Cel and Keelin, and he closed his eyes to better push it away, breathing soft and deep to hold himself in check, less he lose himself and punch his Cousin in the face. He bowed his head forward, resting his forehead on the two in his arms, and knew Merry was crying. In some twist of genetics, Keelin couldn't cry, lacking tear ducts, and that had always made Merry cry harder when it came to her friend, as if her tears could make up for Keelin's lack.

"It's all right, Merry," Keelin told her gently, her sweet almost birdlike voice comforting. "It's all right." Merry just shook her head, pulling back so she could clearly see her friends face, and Harry took the chance to press a kiss to Keelin's forehead, and then to his sisters, before he pulled away to allow them privacy, stepping back and returning to Barinthus's side, slipping his arm around the former gods waist without a thought, leaning into his strength and closing his eyes.

"Are you alright, Harkin?" the ex-god asked softly; Harry hummed, setting his head against the Guard's chest, breathing in the salty scent of the sea and feeling the soft, unconscious ripples of his Magic, like the waves of some distant, soothing body of water.

"I am fine, Barinthus, no worries," he murmured, and opened his eyes to watch his sister and her best friend part slowly, Merry trying not to cry and Keelin unable to, and watched Keelin turn and slowly make her way back to Cel.

"I am sorry, Meredith," Barinthus told her quietly; she shook her head as she joined them.

"Don't be sorry for me, Barinthus," she told him, voice tight and regret bright in her eyes as Harry just barely kept himself from drawing her into a hug, recognizing that, if he did, she would fall apart, and now was not the time. "I am not the one at the end of Cel's leash." Galen touched her shoulder, and started to hug her, but she moved away from him, shaking her head. "Don't, please," she managed, breath hitching on a half-sob even as she smiled weakly at her green knight. "If you comfort me, I'll cry."

"I'll try to remember that for future reference," Galen tried to tease, flashing her a quick smile and, despite his reservations about the Guard, Harry couldn't help but like him in this moment, watching as he managed to get a weak, watery laugh from Merry.

"Doyle glided down the path towards them, and Harry watched him as he pushed his hood back. It was impossible to tell where his hair and his hood began or ended, but Harry could see that the front part of his hair had been gathered in a small bun in the center of his head, leaving his exotic pointed ears bare, and the memory his sister had shared when they were One came back with a vengeance, making his breath catch and his blood heat. Barinthus chuckled softly from beside him, and Harry didn't think about it before he smacked the man in the chest with a huff, and continued to watch the Queen's Darkness approach them, until he finally came to a stop before their group.

"Barinthus, Galen," he said, deep voice calm and neutral. "I believe our Prince gave you orders." Barinthus moved forward, out of Harry's grip, to stand towering over the smaller man, and Harry tilted his head to enjoy the look of them together.

"Prince Cel said he would escort his Cousins to the Queen," Barinthus informed Doyle calmly. "I thought that unwise." Doyle inclined his head in agreement.

"I will escort them to the Queen," he informed the former god seriously, looking past the god toe Merry and Harry and, as difficult as it was to see in the dark, Harry thought he gave a small smile to them. "I believe that our Royal Prince has had quite enough of his Cousins for one meeting. I did not know you could both call the Earth." Together, Harry and Merry shook their heads.

"We didn't call it," Harry corrected mildly, leaving Merry to finish the sentence.,

"It offered itself to us." Harry heard the Captain draw a long breath and let it out slowly, but his face never shifted from its usual blankness, despite the flash of unknown emotion that crossed his eyes.

"Ah, that is different," Doyle murmured calmly. "In some ways not as powerful as those who can wrest the Earth from her course. In some ways more unsettling, because the Land welcomed you home. It acknowledges you. Interesting." He turned his focus to Barinthus once more. "I believe you are wanted elsewhere, _both_ of you," he added with a glance at Galen. His voice was very quiet, but underneath the ordinary words was something dark and threatening, and Harry shivered in anticipation, though he was uncertain if it was for something good or bad.

"Do I have your word that they will come to no harm?" Barinthus asked him, and Galen stepped up next to the former god. Asking such things was almost the same as questioning orders, which could very well get you flayed alive. Harry hoped Barinthus knew what he was doing, because if the former god got himself executed for the Twins' sake Harry would be _extremely_ irritated.

"Barinthus," Galen started; Doyle interrupted him.

"I give you my work that they will arrive in the Queen's presence unharmed."

"That is not what I asked," Barinthus retorted without hesitation; Doyle stepped close enough to Barinthus that his cloak mingled with the taller man's coat.

"Have a car, sea god," Doyle warned lowly, "that you do not ask more than you should."

"Which means that you fear for their safety at the Queen's hand, as do I," Barinthus replied, voice neutral; Doyle raised a hand that was outlined with green fire, and, in response, Harry's own instinctively lit with purple, Chains hissing from the shadows surrounding them, and ominous, rattling noise, like the final breath of a dying man, even as Merry started towards them. Doyle watched her, while Harry and Barinthus kept their eyes on him. Galen stepped between Merry and the two Guards, and she gave him a sharp look.

"Step aside, Galen," she ordered him calmly. "I don't plan to do anything foolish." Her green knight hesitated, but then obeyed. She stepped up so that she was directly beside the two, Doyle's green flames reflecting across her moonbeam skin and making her Seelie eyes glow fetchingly, even as Harry's Chains slithered onto the path beyond the Queen's Darkness, ready to strike and constrict the Captain of the Guard without hesitation, the sinister hooks on their ends glinting with ominous purple magic.

"Stop it, both of you," Merry ordered the two men, shaking her head.

"What did you say?" Doyle asked her mildly, and Merry moved, shoving Barinthus back hard enough that he stumbled, which, in a different situation, would have had Harry grinning, but the tension he felt at the sudden action had his Chains jerking closer, held back only by the knowledge that his sister wasn't stupid. Silently, the Prince watched as his sister continued to shove the former god, again and again, until enough distance lay between the men that there was no longer a risk of violence between them.

"You have been ordered once by the Royal Heir, and once by the Captain of your Guard," Merry told him firmly, frowning up at Barinthus seriously. "Obey your orders and go. Doyle has given you his word that Harry and I will come to the Queen in safety." Harry watched the former sea gods neutral expression as he stared down into Merry's eyes, before those frozen-spring eyes turned to him, and his breath threatened to catch in his chest. Those weren't the eyes of Barinthus, not the eyes that made his blood heat and his head spin. Those were the eyes of the Kingmaker, the one who knew that Doyle stood between him and the Queen's demise, the one who would rather see Merry or Harry on the Throne than any other, who would have gladly killed both Queen and Royal Heir to place Essus upon the Throne. Those were eyes that were considering the pros and cons of killing Doyle here and now before continuing onward.

"_No_," Harry told those eyes, voice hard and filled with the command of his station, and those frozen eyes stared at him, slit pupils thin. "No." Those eyes turned back to Doyle, and watched as the Queen's Darkness turned his free hand so that it came to rest together with the burning one to form a single wick with both hands. Harry stalked forward and joined his sister in time to step clearly between the two men, holding Barinthus's eyes sternly as Merry put her back against his trustingly.

"Cut the theatrics, Doyle," she ordered firmly. "We're coming." As she walked towards the Darkness, Harry turned and walked just behind and to the left of her, his left hand glowing faintly purple as he held tightly to the reigns of his Chains. He stopped as Merry stepped directly in front of Doyle, hands cupping his elbows, and moving her hands slowly up his forearms.

"Seeing Keelin has taken some of the heart from me," she murmured softly, "as Andais knew it would, so take me to her." Her hands were caressing his bare skin now, glowing against the unrivaled darkness of his skin.

"The Land welcomes you, little one, and you grow bold," Doyle commented calmly; Harry chuckled lowly.

"That wasn't bold, Doyle," he corrected the man, watching as his sister's small hands neared that deadly green flame, the same color as the Killing Curse for a reason.

"This," Merry whispered, green-gold eyes gleaming brightly, "is bold." Immediately after the words had left her mouth, she leaned close and blew on the flames while sliding her fingers sharply towards it. The flames vanished as if she'd blown them out, which Harry knew she had not, for Doyle's eyes were wide and slightly panicked but, from where he was, Cel, who was watching, could not tell such a thing, and only saw Merry blowing out the Killing Flames of the Queen's Darkness, and he was frightened.

"You are mad," Doyle breathed; Harry shook his head.

"You gave your word that we would reach the Queen unharmed," he corrected the Guard easily. "You always keep your word, Doyle."

"You trusted me to not harm your sister, to not harm you," the man said, first to Harry and then to Merry, and the two of them nodded.

"I trusted your sense of honor, yes," Merry agreed easily, and Doyle glanced back to where Cel, Siobhan, and Keelin stood, watching them. Cel's handsome face was pale with his fear and, when Merry teasingly blew him a kiss, he jumped, as if she had thrown a blade at him through the wind, and Keelin cuddled close with eyes that were far from friendly. Siobhan stepped in front of them, and this time she drew her sword in a shining line of cold steel. Harry replied in kind, instinctively, letting his Chains glow brightly so that they could be seen, showing both the ones that had encircled their group, the ones posed to attack Doyle and Barinthus in kind…

And the ones that encircled and trapped Cel and his group, which rose from the shadows like the arms of a great Kraken, ready and willing to wrap around their victims and crush them to death, hooked blade gleaming ominously as the air filled with hissing metal and rumbling stone. Doyle grabbed Merry by the arm, his other reaching out to sharply grab Harry's left wrist, hard enough to bruise, and turned them away.

"I do not want to fight Siobhan tonight because the two of you frightened your Cousin," he growled, and the Twins laughed, Merry's edged in bitterness and Harry's edged in cruelty.

"Don't forget that we've frightened poor Siobhan, too," Harry purred, and looked back to give his Cousin and his troupe the same genial smile he held at Court, Chains weaving and swaying in the air around them ominously. Doyle's hand tightened on his wrist to the point that Harry felt his bone shift, threatening to crack.

"That's _much_ more impressive than frightening Cel," Merry agreed with him darkly, and Doyle shook the two of the, once, hard.

"And more dangerous," he hissed, and released them so suddenly the Merry stumbled and Harry bit back a flinch as he felt the tell-tale pain of a fractured bone. The only thing that kept either of them from falling was a quick hand on the elbows before the Captain once more released them, glancing over his shoulder at their Guards.

"Barinthus, Galen, go, now!" He snapped, and there was true anger in his voice now, and Harry felt a dark pleasure in the fact that his sister had so unnerved the man, and, catching her glinting gaze, knew she felt that same pleasure. Doyle once more took Merry's elbow, and wrapped his hand firmly around Harry's wrist, making the Prince grit his teeth at the sharp pain that shot up his arm as the Guard proceeded to lead the two of them away, going too fast. Merry stumbled, and Doyle had to catch her again, thankfully releasing Harry's wrist to do so.

"You're going too fast for the shoes I'm wearing," Merry informed him firmly, and Harry moved to stand just out of his arms reach, shifting his left arm so that the ruffles on his sleeve safely encased and hid his no-doubt swelling wrist from view. It would be difficult to hide the injury for too long, and, until he had a chance, he couldn't pull up an illusion to hide it from the senses of those around him, and himself, so he would just have to suffer through it. He'd suffered through worse without being able to show pain, so it as easy enough to preserver.

"You should have worn something more sensible," Doyle told her as he slowed his sharp pace, and Harry slipped back and around him to slide up to his sisters side, keeping his injured wrist well away from anything that might brush it and, absently, releasing his Chains back to shadows and vapors, not even glancing back to watch Cel and his group to see their reactions. He would have plenty of fun with that later.

"I've seen the Queen for a Sidhe to strip and go naked to the banquet when she didn't like their clothes," Merry pointed out tartly, firmly. "So forgive me, but I want her to like the outfit… Give me your arm, Doyle," she ordered, trying to reason with him. "Escort me like a Princess, not a prisoner." He slowed again, looking at her from the corners of his eyes.

"Are you quite done with your _own_ theatrics, Princess Meredith?" He asked mildly; she nodded.

"Quite done," Harry agreed easily, fiddling with his ruffles in an absent was as he let his eyes drift around. Doyle stopped and offered Merry his arm, which she accepted easily, before arching an amused brow.

"A little cold for short sleeves, isn't it?" She asked him; he glanced at her, eyes trailing down her body, and Harry smiled a little at the tension that began to rise between the two, before the smile faded into heat as the memory they'd shared resurfaced again.

"Well, at least you chose well for yourself," Doyle told her, and Merry put her free hand over top of his, as if she was hugging his arm to herself.

"Do you like it?" She asked, smiling prettily up at him, and Doyle looked down at her hand, only to still, making the Twins stop as well to focus on him. The Guard grabbed her hand, and, as soon as his skin touched that silver ring and Harry watched as a spark of magic erupted from it sharply, the ring recognizing Doyle much like it had himself, Galen, and Barinthus. The Guard ripped his hand away as if it had hurt, rubbing it with an unreadable look crossing his features.

"Where did you get that ring?" He asked, voice strained, and Merry glanced at Harry for a moment.

"It was left in the car for her," Harry told him mildly, thoughts hidden behind his genial mask; Doyle shook his head.

"I knew it had gone missing," he murmured, "but I did not expect to find it on your hand." He looked at her, and, had it been anyone else, Harry would have sworn he looked afraid. Perhaps he was, like Barinthus had been, a more fear for the future than of the ring itself. Whether it was real or not, however, the expression disappeared almost before either Twin could blink, and his face became smooth and dark and unreadable once more, before he gave Merry a formal bow and offered her his arm like a gentleman would. Merry accepted it with grace, and they continued once more down the path, Harry remaining on his sister's left side so that she was between them, his eyes still drifting about, watching the darkness around them in silence as he steadfastly ignored his aching wrist.

A fractured wrist would be the least of his worries if they were late to see their Aunt, after all.

**A/N:** It's just like I said, you know?

Long chapter is long.

Please give me feedback, thank you!


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